


Part One:  Five and Seven

by Aurilia



Series: We Were Neighbors [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead: Survival Instinct (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Primarily Pre-Series (but will eventually include the zombalypse)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-14 06:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5733226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurilia/pseuds/Aurilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate world where Glenn is a little older than in canon, and Daryl is a little younger, how would their lives have been different had Glenn's family moved to Georgia following Daddy Rhee's death?</p>
<p>Warning:  This story will contain racial/ethnic slurs, homophobia, underage experimentation, abuse, violence, graphic details of gore, a multitude of bad language, and (eventually) slash of the male/male variety.  It might not all be in the same chapter, but by the time this series finishes, all of the above will have been included in one form or another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue:  Changes

**Author's Note:**

> I've got four chapters written so far. I intend to post weekly. For those of you who follow me at ff.net, this story will _not_ be cross-posted there, as their rules do not allow for any underage characters to be sexually involved. Granted, this won't happen for a good long while, but I don't see the point in posting there when I won't be able to post that part of this series.

The house stood at the desolate end of a two-lane blacktop in the mountains of northeast Georgia. The road itself was pitted and rutted and haphazardly patched and only paved that far because it served as the main access road to US Highway 76 for the logging company that owned the vast majority of the land between there and Chattahoochee National Forest. The house in question wasn’t very large, nor was it particularly new, but it was in good condition and stood on six acres. It was stick-built, clad in white clapboard, with a copper roof gone green with age, and shutters painted sky blue. The driveway that led from the wide cul-de-sac dead end of the county road consisted of side-by-side rows of shockingly white crushed limestone, separated by a strip of dandelions and clover and grass down the middle. Only two of the property’s six acres had been cleared; half an acre in front of the house, and a full acre behind, with the remainder curling around either side, slightly offset towards the side with the driveway. There wasn’t any garage, just a small modular outbuilding that, if pressed, might contain room enough for a lawn mower and a rake, but not much else. The mailbox that stood sentinel at the end of the drive, however, was shockingly new in comparison with its surroundings; shining stainless steel, with the house number painted on the side in bold black figures, edged with white. A slightly overgrown line of lilac bushes separated the house from the road, their blooms a mix of purple and white.

It wasn’t quite what Nari Rhee had pictured when perusing the properties Hwan had left to them. She glanced into the rear-view mirror and spared a moment to smile despite the circumstances. Glenn, Anwyn, Enora, and Moya were all sleeping soundly. She pulled the minivan into the driveway and parked at a slight angle to the house’s front porch. Checking the clock on the dash, she saw that the moving van was due to arrive in less than an hour. _Think this might actually work,_ she thought. _I really do think so._

For the first time since a drunk driver had taken the life of her husband nearly a year earlier, she allowed herself to feel a little hope. Regardless of the photos included in the file for the property, she’d been expecting something more along the lines of her new nearest neighbor’s house – a run-down shack, surrounded by the rusting wrecks of cars that scrap dealers wouldn’t even take. Said neighbor’s house was roughly a mile back along the pitted road, but their driveway ran all the way down to the dead end, thanks to a small stream that flowed alongside the road before veering through a culvert and down into the forest to form the eastern border of her land.

Her new home, picturesque though it may be, was a far cry from the mini-mansion back in Ann Arbor. It would take quite a bit of getting used to, but Nari knew she could do it. What she was less sure of was her children’s reactions. Moya wasn’t much of a concern – her littlest girl was only two years old. No, it was the older three that were going to be a problem, particularly Anwyn and Enora. The nine year old twins hadn’t wanted to move at all, to leave their school and their friends behind. But Hwan had left debts behind when he’d died; debts that necessitated selling off properties one-by-one until all that remained was this small country house in Georgia and an apartment building in a working-class neighborhood in New Jersey.

_And despite its motto of ‘The_ _Garden_ _State_ _’, I have never liked_ _New Jersey_ _,_ Nari mused, her eyes falling on Glenn. The five year old shifted a little in his sleep, bringing a smile to Nari’s face. Glenn… He was never entirely still. Even when curled up and asleep, her only son was filled with an exuberant energy that would, hopefully, find safer outlets in the country than the upscale neighborhood back in Ann Arbor. _Somehow, I doubt that, even if it happens here, the neighbors would give two hoots about Glenn climbing their trees. And it’s far enough to the next house that the only windows I'll need to worry about replacing are our own._ Her son, Glenn, had managed to break three windows back in Ann Arbor – two with his baseball, but only the boy himself knew precisely how a baking powder biscuit had managed to shatter the Johnson’s living room’s picture window.

The moving van arrived and she exited the minivan to greet it, her thoughts shifting to more pressing matters than whether or not her children would thrive in their new home.

* * *

Merle grunted as his little brother landed in his lap. “G’off me!” he growled, shoving the seven year old on the floor.

Daryl landed in a pile of assorted laundry, shoes, and magazines, laughing. “We got new neighbors,” he announced, rolling off the pile. “They moved in this mornin’ over at Ol’ Lady Joyce’s place.”

Merle went back to sorting through his crap; the train that was gonna take him from this shithole was gonna leave in four hours, an’ he had ta finish packin’. “So?” he said, picking through his socks for the pairs with the least number of holes. “Why should I give a fuck?”

Daryl let out a heavy sigh. “Yer still leavin’, ain’t ya?”

“Yeah,” Merle replied. “Ya know I ain’t got no choice. Judge said army or actual prison this time, an’ juvie were bad enough.”

“Wish ya could take me with,” Daryl said, flopping onto the foot of his brother’s bed, dislodging a pile of ratty jeans.

Since Merle had already packed the jeans he was taking with him, he didn’t care that the rest landed on the floor. “Gotta be eighteen ta join the army,” he repeated for what felt like the millionth time in the last two weeks. He stuffed the socks he’d picked out into his duffle and leveled his gaze on his brother. “Just stay outta th’ ol’ man’s way. Specially if he’s been at the whiskey.”

Daryl nodded. “I know,” he sighed. “I ain’t dumb, ya know. He’s worst wi’ the whiskey. Still wish I could come with.”

“Wishin’ don’t change jack shit, li’l brother,” Merle said. “Just… Keep outta his way.”

Daryl just shrugged and nodded while picking through the stack of his big brother’s discarded t-shirts. Spotting his favorite among the pile, he pulled it out. “C’n I have this un?”

“Don’t matter none ta me,” Merle said, shrugging.

Daryl tightened his hold on the Lynyrd Skynyrd tee, like he wanted to hang on to his brother, but knew if he did so, it wouldn’t help.

_Wishin’ don’t change jack shit._


	2. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd be posting one chapter per week, but I don't consider the prologue to be a full chapter. This is the chapter that will count as my 'one' for this week. Enjoy!

_Chapter One: Wednesday_

It was a few weeks after they moved in when the twins finally got it through their heads that they were _never_ moving back to Ann Arbor. In order to escape their temper-tantrum, Glenn sped off into the forest. Since moving in, he’d come to know the area well, ducking out as often as the weather and Mama allowed, but this time he purposefully headed into an area he’d not explored before.

Cresting a low rise, he found the stream that served as one of their property lines. Mama had told him never to cross either of the fences or the little stream, just to keep him from getting lost. Sitting on a boulder in the midpoint of the stream was a boy about his age or just a little older, wearing ripped jeans, scuffed sneakers, and a dirty t-shirt. The boy had a stick in his hands, along with a small pocket knife, and was steadily stripping the bark from the stick with the knife. The boy paused in his task when Glenn dislodged a stone that then rolled noisily into the stream.

“Who’re you?” the boy asked.

Glenn pushed his way through the underbrush to stand on the rocky beach of the stream. “I'm Glenn. What’s your name?”

“Daryl,” the boy replied, then looked down at his mostly-stripped stick. He folded the pocket knife and put it away, then tossed the stick off to the side. “Yer one of them livin’ at Ol’ Lady Joyce’s house. The house wi’ all the lilac bushes. Ain’t ya?”

“Lilac?” He knew they were a type of flower, but there were a _lot_ of flowers around the new house.

“Real tall bushes,” Daryl explained. “Purple an’ white flowers, look kinda like clumps o’ grapes from far away.”

That was a pretty spot-on description of the flowers that formed a fence between the new place and the road, so Glenn nodded. “Yeah, I guess. There’s me an’ my sisters an’ Mama.”

“Doncha got a dad?”

Glenn shook his head. “He died last year. Never was around all that much anyways. Don’t remember him all that well.”

Daryl was quiet for a while. Long enough for Glenn to pick his way across the shallow stream and sit next to him on the boulder. “Guess yer lucky,” Daryl said, his voice very quiet and small.

“How?”

“Dunno,” Daryl said, shrugging a shoulder. “Merle – he’s my big brother. He had ta join the army. Promised he’d write ta me, but he ain’t yet. Pro’ly forgot. ’S just me an’ Dad at home now.”

“I got _three_ sisters,” Glenn said. “Isn’t all _that_ lucky. Anwyn an’ Enora are older than me. They’re nine an’ twins an’ always pickin’ on me. Moya’s gonna be three next week an’ she keeps tryin’ to follow me around an’ stuff. It’s annoying.”

“Hey,” Daryl said, suddenly far more cheerful than he’d been so far. “Ya wanna see somethin’ cool?”

“Sure.”

“It’s this way,” Daryl said, climbing off the boulder.

Glenn spared one fleeting thought to his family before following his new friend as they walked in the direction the creek flowed from. He didn’t know how long they trudged along, splashing in and out of the cool water, but he didn’t really care.

They rounded a bend in the creek and Glenn had to stop and stare for a long minute. The stream trickled its way out of the forest and into a small clearing before emptying itself into what looked like an honest-to-goodness _lake_ , then spilled noisily over a huge pile of mud and logs and sticks. Many years later, he would look back and realize that first impression was simply because he, himself, was so small – the body of water was barely big enough to be termed a ‘pond’. But in the eyes of a five year old, one who was a little small for his age, the almost circular body of water seemed much, much larger.

As large as imagination’s limit.

He grinned at Daryl. “This _is_ real cool.”

They splashed along the edges of the pond for a while, catching frogs and skipping stones. Eventually Glenn flopped onto a sandy bar of gravel that stood as a sort-of beach for the pond. “Gonna hafta go home soon. My mom’ll be mad if I miss supper.” Daryl sat next to him, but didn’t reply. Glenn looked at his new friend. “Won’t your mom be upset if you’re late?”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah,” he said, chunking a pebble into the pond. “Used ta live in town. But our house burnt down. Ma didn’t make it outta the fire.” Daryl could still feel the heat of the flames in his memory; standing on the cracked sidewalk between Brian’s and Billy’s bikes while the other boys took it in turn to stare at the fire, then at him. He shook his head again to dispel the memory. “Was a long time ago, though. After school started at the end o' last summer.”

“Sorry,” Glenn said. It was what everyone kept saying after his dad died, so he figured it was what you were supposed to say in circumstances like these.

Daryl shrugged. “C’m on,” he said, climbing to his feet. “If yer gonna get in trouble, ya can’t come play no more, so we need ta get ya back home.”

Glenn followed Daryl back towards the Rhee house. As the pair crested the low hillock between the stream and the Rhees’ yard, they saw Glenn’s mom standing on the front porch. Glenn grabbed Daryl’s hand and tugged him along as he ran to his mom. “Mama! This is Daryl.”

Nari took a seat on the porch stairs and looked the new boy over. She noticed his raggedy jeans, oversized t-shirt, and the haphazard home-done haircut. “Hello, Daryl,” she said, smiling at him. She was pretty sure he lived in that junkyard-house down the road. “I’m Glenn’s mom. My name’s Nari, but you can call me Mama Rhee – it’s what most of my kids’ friends wind up calling me.”

Daryl scuffed a battered sneaker in the dirt and flicker-glanced at her before holding out his right hand. “Daryl Dixon, Miz Rhee,” he said, remembering a hazy memory of his mom teaching him ‘proper’ manners.

Nari caught another flicker-glance the boy cast about, this time it landed on a smiling Glenn as Nari shook Daryl’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Daryl,” Nari said. “Would you like to stay for supper? We’re having hotdogs with mac’n’cheese.”

Daryl finally managed to look up and meet Nari’s eyes. “Yes, Miz Rhee.”

“You can use the phone and call your folks, let them know where you are.”

The boy shook his head, making his damp hair fall into his eyes. “Don’t got a phone at home, but I know Dad won’t care.”

Nari frowned inwardly at that, but decided not to make a fuss. “You’re sure?” she asked, searching the boy’s face for any sign he was being less than honest.

“I’m sure,” he said, looking right in her eyes.

“Glenn,” Nari turned her attention to her son. “How about you take Daryl around to the mudroom and the both of you get cleaned up. Supper should be on the table by the time you’re ready.”

Glenn did just that, and by the time both boys had taken turns at the low sink in the backmost room of the house, Nari was calling for them to come and eat. Daryl followed Glenn in through the back door and into the kitchen. It was _loud_. Two girls – identical down to the birthmarks under their right eyes – one in a yellow shirt, and the other wearing green, were giggling at each other. A little baby of a girl wearing something pink was strapped into a booster seat and beating a tiny plastic spoon against the table while jabbering nonsense along to the radio perched above the refrigerator. Nari was just setting a tiny sectioned plate in front of the baby as they entered. “Sit anywhere,” she said, indicating the three empty places at the circular table.

Glenn took the seat that was equally distant from any of his sisters. “That’s Anwyn and Enora,” he said, indicating the twins. “And Moya’s the baby. You won’t wanna sit by her, not ’less ya wanna be all covered in ketchup.”

Taking Glenn’s word for it, Daryl slid into the chair between one of the twins and Glenn. “Who’re you?” the twin asked.

“Daryl,” he replied, though he wasn’t sure if she heard him – he could barely hear himself. “I live up the road.”

“You got any sisters?” the twin asked.

Daryl shook his head. “No. An’ m’brother just left for the army a while back.”

Sighing in disappointment, the twin went back to chatting and giggling with her sister. Daryl wondered if girls did anything but _talk_ – it’s all he could remember the ones at school doing, too – and felt a flash of pity for Glenn. It didn’t last long, as Nari soon returned with supper.

It may have just been hotdogs with mac’n’cheese, but Daryl thought it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Even the weird green pickles Glenn piled on his hotdog – ‘kimchi’, if he managed to hear that right – were good.

Nari didn’t fail to notice how Glenn’s new friend ate enough she worried he might make himself sick. What with his rather ragged appearance, it was beginning to shape up to an alarming conclusion in her mind. It may have been going on ten years since she’d last had to look for signs of abuse and neglect – she’d resigned from her position as a school guidance counselor when she’d gotten pregnant with the twins – but she hadn’t forgotten her years of schooling. It was really too soon to make any concrete decisions; she’d just met the boy, and he could just be going through a growth spurt, but she decided to keep an eye out.

Just in case.

Unaware of the direction in which Mama Rhee’s thoughts were going, Daryl finished his meal about the same time that Glenn did. “Wanna see my room?” the younger boy asked.

“Sure, but I can’t stay much longer. Dad’ll be off work in a bit,” Daryl replied.

As he followed Glenn through the house, Daryl marveled at how _different_ this place was from any other house he’d ever been inside of before. It was bright and clean and _new_ , even though he knew for a fact that the house itself was actually _older_ than the trailer in which he now lived. There were framed pictures up on the walls and a bunch of small knickknacks scattered around, none of which showed signs of having _ever_ been broken. The carpets all looked soft and clean enough to wrap himself up, particularly the zigzag patterned rug in the living room all done up in browns and oranges and reds.

The stairs were solid and only the bottommost riser squeaked a little – a far cry from the rickety stairs that connected the deck at the trailer to the driveway. Even the stairs at the old place back in town had squeaked on almost every riser, and several of the slats supporting the hand rail had been missing, but not here. Here, the rail was supported by a series of carved golden wooden supports that made Daryl think of the supports to the wooden study-tables at the public library, and not a one of them were missing.

Upstairs, the hallway was dim, lit only from the ambient light below, but Daryl spotted a light up on the ceiling – its shade was yellow and red and blue and reminded him of the big stained glass window at the Baptist church his mother used to attend. There were five doors off the short hall. Glenn paused and pointed to each. “That one’s Mama’s room. That one’s the twins’ – it’s all yellow an’ pink an’ lacy, so I don’t like goin’ in there. That one’s the bathroom. That one’s Moya’s room. And this one’s mine,” he said, placing his hand on the door knob. The knob itself was something Daryl hadn’t seen before – it looked like someone had found a giant diamond and used that for a knob instead of the plain brass knobs he was familiar with – and he found it strangely beautiful.

Inside Glenn’s room, Daryl felt a sudden stab of pure, hot jealousy. He wrestled it away. _Ain’t no reason fer it, Daryl. You_ know _other kids always got more ’an you e’er will. ’S just the way things is._ The room wasn’t particularly large, though it seemed that way to Daryl since it was about twice the size of his room back at the trailer. It was pretty close to the same size the bedroom he’d shared with Merle in the old house had been, but it still seemed bigger since it wasn’t messy.

A pair of tall and skinny windows were set into the wall across from the door. They sported dark green curtains that almost exactly matched the paint on the walls and had baseball stuff printed all over them, bats and balls and gloves and caps and cleats. The hardwood floor supported another clean and soft-looking rug, this one printed to look like a baseball diamond. The biggest bit of furniture was a bunk bed that sprawled along two walls. It wasn’t at all like the one he and Merle had shared at the old house, though. Instead of being rusting enameled black metal, it was made of dark reddish wood, and the lower bunk was set at an angle instead of directly under the upper bunk. Next to the lower bunk, the bed had a built-in desk.

Glenn’s dresser was a long, short one that was centered on the wall opposite the windowless wall where the upper bunk resided and had four drawers and was made from the same reddish wood as the bed. Next to it on one side was a blue and green laundry hamper, while on the other side stood a large wooden chest that matched the bed and the dresser. Stepping fully into the room revealed a pair of tall bookcases on either side of the door that likewise matched the other furniture.

The bedding he could see on the lower bunk matched the baseball-themed curtains, and everywhere he looked, there were toys and games and puzzles and _books_. He gave Glenn a shy smile. “I really like yer room,” he said, not quite meeting the younger boy’s eyes.

Glenn beamed at him. “Thanks! Maybe you can stay over sometime.”

Daryl doubted it, but it was a nice thought. “Maybe,” he agreed.

“You know how to play slapjack?” Glenn asked, grabbing a somewhat battered deck of playing cards from off the top of his dresser.

Daryl shook his head. “N’er heard o’ it.”

“It’s easy,” Glenn said, sitting on that baseball-diamond rug. He removed the rubber band from around the cards and started to ‘smear’ them, but Daryl knelt down and stilled his hands before the cards could get too messy.

“I c’n bridge a deck,” he said. “Merle taught me how.” At Glenn’s confused look, he didn’t bother explaining. He simply gathered the cards, split them into two roughly-equal piles, and shuffled. It wasn’t as smooth nor as fast as Merle’s shuffling, but it did the trick.

“Cool!” Glenn exclaimed. “Can you show me?”

Daryl demonstrated. “Ya gotta split the cards so they’re just about ’xactly in half. Then ya put ’em right next ta each other an’ flip ’em wi’ yer thumbs so they alternate cards landin’ from either stack. Then ya brace ’em at the top an’ bow ’em an’ let ’em slide down.” He handed the deck back to Glenn and went through the instructions once more. Glenn’s first attempt resulted in scattering the cards in the space between them. “Did that m’own self the first time I tried,” Daryl admitted while helping Glenn collect the scattered cards. “Wanna try again?”

Glenn managed to clumsily bridge the deck on his second attempt. “Cool!” he repeated, enthusiastic over his new ability to shuffle cards like a grown-up. “Not even Anwyn an’ Enora can do this!”

“Yer gonna get better at it each time ya try,” Daryl said, passing along the same information that Merle had given him.

With the deck thoroughly shuffled, Glenn quickly dealt it out between himself and Daryl. “Slapjack’s a real easy game,” he said. “I get half the cards an’ so do you. If we was playin’ with someone else, then we’d all have the same number, too.”

“Ya deal out the whole deck to whoever’s playin’,” Daryl summarized.

Glenn nodded. “Don’t look at your cards. We take turns flippin’ one over in the middle. When a jack pops up, you gotta try and be the first one to touch it, because whoever touches it first gets to claim the whole pile of turned-up cards. When we’re all outta cards, whoever’s got the most turned-up ones wins.”

The first game went slowly so that Daryl could learn the rules. They both agreed it wouldn’t count. The second game was much faster, and Glenn squeaked by with a two-card win. The third game was even faster, and that time Daryl won, even though he only grabbed one jack – Glenn had gotten the other three early in the game, but they had all come up quickly, without many cards between. The last jack had been almost at the bottom of the deck.

As Glenn gathered up the cards, Daryl said, “I gotta be gettin’ home. It was real great ta come over. Thanks fer teachin’ me that game, too.”

Glenn grinned. “You're welcome,” he said. “It’s nice to know there’s someone to play with nearby – I get real sick of only having my sisters here. Maybe tomorrow I can come to your place?”

Again, Daryl doubted it. But instead of disappointing his new friend, he said, “Maybe. Dad works durin’ the days, so iffen yer ma says okay…”

“Cool!” Daryl wondered if that was Glenn’s favorite word. “I’ll make sure to ask. Hopefully, she’ll say yes.”

Daryl stood. “See ya later,” he said, then headed to the door. He padded slowly back down the sturdy stairs, once more marveling at how silent and how pretty they were. On reaching the living room, he found Glenn’s sisters all sitting in a row, watching a cartoon on the huge television. The twin in green, Enora, watched him as he silently slipped along the wall and out of the room. He found Mama Rhee in the kitchen, finishing up washing the dishes from dinner.

She noticed his entry, despite how quietly he’d been walking. “Have a good time with Glenn, honey?” she asked, rinsing a big red pot in the sink.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Thanks fer lettin’ me stay fer dinner. It was real great. Ain’t had hotdogs in forever.”

“You’re welcome,” Nari replied, setting the pot atop the pile of drip-drying dishes in the drainer next to the sink. She pulled the plugs, then turned and leaned against the sink. “Going home?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah.”

She smiled at him. It was a kind smile, one that reminded him a little of his mother’s smile when he’d been really small. “You’re more than welcome to come by any time you like,” she said. “Since we live so far from town, Glenn hasn’t had the chance to make many friends yet.”

“Thanks,” Daryl replied, a little uncomfortable. As nice as Mama Rhee was, as fantastic as it had been to spend time with someone close to his own age who didn’t yet think his family wasn’t worth dealing with, it was too _different_. It made him sad and angry in a way little else had, and he wasn’t sure what to do with the feelings other than shove them away. _Ain’t the Rhees’ fault. No sense in takin’ it out on them how I’m mad ’cause they’re better ’an me._ “I’m sure I’ll see ya again,” he said, side-stepping to the back door.

“I’m sure you will,” Nari replied, noting how the boy didn’t seem to want to turn his back on her. “I’d normally ask that you call when you get home, just to let me know you made it safely, but you said you don’t have a telephone, so I’ll just say to be careful. Have a good night, Daryl.”

“You, too,” he said, then quickly ducked out the door. He hurried until the house was out of sight, then slowed down. He wasn’t in any great rush to get back to the trailer, and there was still a good hour or so of sunlight left, though it wouldn’t have mattered much to Daryl if it was pitch-black out. He knew the forest in this area rather well.

He dragged his feet and dawdled on his way home, thinking about the Rhees and their house and how Glenn seemed to have _everything_. It was well past dark by the time he crept out of the forest and into the junk-strewn clearing surrounding the Dixon’s ramshackle trailer house. He let out a sigh of relief. _Dad’s not home yet._ Will Dixon’s truck was absent from the dirt track that looped through the piles of rusting junk. Even though he knew he was alone, he still walked as quietly as he could up to the door and let himself in through the narrowest of gaps. He reached over and flicked the light switch, but – like that morning – nothing happened.

 _Just hope the ’lectric gets turned back on b’fore school_. He groped around in the darkness before he found the small table that stood near the door. On it was a chipped ceramic Jack-o’-lantern dish that contained a mass of random junk. His questing fingers eventually identified a Bic lighter. It took a couple of tries to get it to light, but when it did, he grabbed a jar candle and lit it. Putting the lighter back in the dish, he carried the candle back to his bedroom.

Keeping one ear open for any sign of his dad’s return, Daryl stripped off his still-damp clothes and pulled on Merle’s old Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt. He sat the candle on the windowsill above his bed and then dug under the mattress for the book the librarian in town had given him the day before Merle had left. It was old, and more than a few pages were held in with nothing more than tape, and Mr. Howard said that it was just going to be thrown away, so since Daryl wanted it, he got to keep it. It joined the half-dozen other battered books the grandfatherly librarian had given Daryl, and Daryl did his best to keep them all out of sight of his father. Will Dixon didn’t hold to ‘book larnin’ and Daryl didn’t want the books used as kindling.

Most of the cover art had worn away over the years, but there was still a faint outline of the book’s title. My Side of the Mountain. Daryl traced a finger under the faded words. _Wonder if Dad’s gonna ’member ta enroll me in school this year. Know I’ll hafta redo second grade since I only went for them few weeks ’fore Ma died. Din’t go back, not after the funeral, not even after we moved out here. Know Merle was talkin’ ta Dad ’bout it, but that were just that one time ’fore he went off ta the army._

Though Merle had inherited more of their mom’s look than Daryl had – just like how Daryl looked more like their father than Merle – Daryl was more like her in temperament than he was like his father. His mom’s side of the bedroom back at the old house had always sported numerous books, and contrary to what the kids at school thought when he’d mentioned it, his mom hadn’t much liked the cheap romances sold in the check-out lanes of the grocery store. No, her tastes ran more to mysteries and adventures and sometimes horror.

So those were the types of stories Daryl tended to gravitate towards.

The sound of his dad’s truck pulled him from his thoughts before he could even open the cover of his book. Hurriedly, Daryl stuffed it back under his mattress and blew out the candle. He’d had a really _good_ day. He didn’t want anything to spoil it.

Holding excessively still, he listened as his dad clomped into the house and cussed the lack of lights. “Goddamned motherfucking shit-eating brain-damaged spawn of a two-bit whore! Boy! Get yer fuckin’ lazy ass out here!”

 _So much for the good day._ Daryl padded barefoot down the dark hallway to the living room. His dad had lit a Coleman gas lantern and it cast a harsh white glow from its place amid a mountain of beer cans on the coffee table. His dad met his arrival with an empty beer can chucked at his head. Daryl barely flinched, but it was enough for the can to ricochet off the wall behind him instead of off his forehead. “Thought I tol’ ya ta get this fuckin’ pigsty cleaned up afore I come home! You _want_ yer ass beat, kid? That what you after?”

“No, Dad,” Daryl replied. He hurried through the room, stumbling a little as his father’s heavy hand landed between his shoulder blades in something that wasn’t hard enough to be a smack, but was a little too hard for a shove. It still managed to get the message across. _Dunno why_ I _gotta clean it up. I din’t make the mess ta begin with!_ He knew better than to give voice to these thoughts, and so kept them locked safely within his mind. Daryl retrieved a large black garbage bag from the cupboard under the kitchen sink, then – opening it as he walked – he returned to the living room and began stuffing empty beer cans into it, along with paper plates, napkins, fast-food wrappers, and the other garbage that his father couldn’t quite manage to throw away on his own.

Will Dixon stood and watched him for several long minutes before clicking on a flashlight and retreating to the kitchen. Daryl didn’t pause in his cleaning, but the nominal rustle of the bag and the clinking of the cans within it didn’t disguise the muttered grumbling coming from his dad as the man opened the fridge. “Fuckin’ kids ain’t no use to nobody. Never fuckin’ wanted any ta begin wi’. Ask ’em ta do _one fuckin’ thing_ an’ it’s like they think I’m talkin’ to a goddamn _wall_.” The pop-hiss of a beer can opening punctuated the declaration, followed by the sound of one of the kitchen chairs being dragged across the sticky linoleum. “Fuckin’ shits can’t be fucked ta do a single motherfuckin’ thing, but that don’t stop ’em from scuttlin’ around like goddamned cockroaches wi’ their hands out an’ hollerin’ ‘I want’, ‘gimme’, an’ ‘can I have’.” The grumbling paused for a moment, then Daryl heard his dad belch. “Fuck. Least I’m down ta just one o’ them fuckin’ life-suckin’ parasites now. Way my fuckin’ luck runs, though, this’un’s gonna start needin’ bail afore too much longer. Damn kid – keeps tryin’ ta be just like his idiot brother.”

Daryl ignored the low mutter of his father’s voice as he finished up excavating the area around the beat up sofa and his dad’s recliner. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, and enough times that he could have said it along with his dad, to boot. After finishing up with the seating area, he then moved on to the television. It was a ginormous thing, set into its own wooden case, but still managed to be smaller than the one he’d seen at the Rhees’. Merle had found it about a week after they’d moved into the trailer, just sitting on a curb outside one of the rich folk’s houses over on the west side of town. Daryl’d been surprised that it worked – sure, the volume was stuck, but at least it was stuck at a middling level that let you hear it without blasting you out of the room. There was also a weird discolored blob in the lower left corner of the screen. Merle had said it was probably because someone had positioned a big speaker too close to it, the magnet inside the speaker messed with the color for reasons Merle hadn’t been able to explain. But, despite its idiosyncrasies, it worked and was bigger than the one they’d had at the house in town. It was also partially buried under crushed beer cans. Since it didn’t have a remote, his dad liked to turn it off by tossing shit at the power button.

Just as he was tucking the last bit of garbage into the bag, his dad spoke from the doorway between the living room and kitchen. “’Bout time ta clear the shit outta yer brother’s room. He’s a grown-up now, an’ he’d best stay away if he knows what’s good fer ’im.”

The words felt like barbed wire wrapped around his chest, but Daryl just nodded. “C’n I do that t’morrow?” he asked, tying the garbage bag closed.

“Yeah,” his dad said. “Just get it done ’fore Friday. Got word Jess is gonna need a place ta stay.”

Daryl nodded again, then wrestled the bulky bag of trash out through the door. Jess Collins was his dad’s half-brother. Daryl’d never met him before, but he couldn’t help but resent the fact that he was apparently going to get Merle’s room. He wrangled the bag of trash into the bed of the beat up old pickup truck. No matter how hard he tried, all he could imagine was a second Will Dixon moving in and making his life even more difficult.

By the time he’d finished up with the bag of trash and gone back inside, his dad had retreated to his bedroom on the other side of the kitchen. Daryl picked up the lantern and carried it in the opposite direction, down the hall to Merle’s room. He shoved a stack of magazines off the dresser Merle’d salvaged from the fire and sat the lantern down, then took a long look around.

Merle was, if it were even possible, _messier_ than their dad. Even with the stacks of clothes he’d left behind when packing taken out of consideration, the room was a disaster area. The corner where he knew a small garbage can stood was buried under a massive drift of beer cans, soda bottles, and fast food wrappers. A similar mound of used Kleenex stood next to the bed and in front of the bedside table. Glossy magazines were scattered everywhere, and the closet’s broken door revealed a mountain of dirty clothes. Bootlaces trailed out from under the unmade bed in a large enough quantity that they almost looked like a nest of snakes. Cobwebs stretched across every corner up near the ceiling, and the walls were all but caked with cut-out photos of women in skimpy bikinis. The big window across the back of the room was ‘curtained’ with an old Confederate flag.

Daryl sighed at the work he had ahead of himself. If he remembered correctly, it was Wednesday. This meant he only had _one day_ to get the mess all squared away. _So much for seein’ if Glenn wants ta play out by the pond tomorrow._ He padded back to the kitchen and returned with the whole roll of trash bags. He began with the magazines he’d pushed onto the floor. Most of them were obviously sources of the pictures Merle’d tacked up on the walls, but there were a couple of car magazines and a few hunting ones that Daryl sat aside to leaf through if he ever had a minute.

Then he cleared the rest of the dresser top, throwing away most of what he found, including empty deodorant sticks, a package of plastic razors, two combs with missing teeth, and other random junk. He kept the little bottle of cologne he found. It was mostly gone, but Daryl liked the smell, and it reminded him of when Merle was in a good mood because he had a date. He took the bottle and the magazines into his own room and sat them on the floor by his bed before returning to Merle’s room.

The dresser had six drawers, in two stacks of three each. The topmost drawer on the left contained socks and underwear, though not many of either. Picking up each pair of boxers with a barely-there pinch to the elastic, Daryl tossed them one by one into the black garbage bag. He paused with one pair left in the drawer. _If Merle ever comes home, he’s gonna need_ somethin’ _ta wear._ Using the same pinch, he tossed the last pair on top of the dresser, then started rifling through the undershirts. He found one that was still white, not the grungy grey they turned after having gone through the wash a few times with jeans and t-shirts, and it joined the boxers. The rest went in the bag. Daryl then unrolled the socks and sorted through them until he found a pair that lacked any holes and they, too, joined the undershirt and boxers, with the rest going in the bag.

The middle drawer was empty, as was the bottom drawer. The right side bottom drawer contained more stacks of magazines, and Daryl sorted through them, not finding any worth keeping – these ones were all just shining pictures of girls in swimsuits and lacy underwear… and even a few where the girls weren’t wearing anything at all. The middle drawer was jam-packed with random _junk_. He slowly sorted out the bits he could use and a few items he was sure Merle wouldn’t want thrown away. A big package of double-A batteries that hadn’t been opened, a small silver flashlight that had a belt-holster, the expensive Buck knife Merle’d traded three hours of yard work for from that old man who lived right at the edge of town, a handful of lighters and some books of matches, two pairs of sunglasses, and a brand-new deck of Bicycle playing cards that were still wrapped in cellophane. Most of the rest of the junk in the drawer Daryl didn’t really understand why his brother had it to begin with. Sure, Merle smoked cigarettes, but why would he have a full dozen pipes, too? They weren’t the big ones that Daryl saw the men down at the general store smoke, either, but tiny little things that wouldn’t hold but a puff or two of tobacco at a go. And what was with the glass pipes? If that’s even what they were. They, too, were too small, and Daryl puzzled over them for a long minute before shrugging and tossing the lot into the trash. A brown paper sack yielded the best find – it was packed full of firecrackers, including a bunch of M-80s. Grinning, Daryl sat it with the other stuff he was keeping. The last item in the drawer was a big zippered baggie half-full of a crumbly dried green substance. Daryl knew it wasn’t tobacco – tobacco was brownish, not green – and opened the bag a little to smell it. It made him sneeze. As with the weird pipes he’d found, he shrugged and tossed it in the garbage.

By now, the bag was pretty much full, so Daryl tied it off and readied a second bag. He took a moment to carry the things he was keeping to his room, then returned to sorting through Merle’s stuff. The last drawer on the dresser – the topmost right drawer – contained more assorted junk, though quite a bit of it was stuff Daryl decided to keep. Merle’s collection of cassette tapes – twenty in total – were carried to his room, and the drawer also revealed Merle’s battered tape player. The Walkman’s radio dial didn’t work any more, and a strip of duct tape was the only thing keeping the batteries in, but when Daryl pressed the play button, tinny music poured through the headphones. He turned the volume down and slid the headphones on. Grinning a little, Daryl clipped the player to the oversized neckline of his nightshirt and hummed along with The Grateful Dead. A broken belt was thrown away, but a second one of braided leather was still in good shape, so he added it to the stack of Merle’s clothes that he was keeping for his brother.

The drawer also held a truly massive quantity of coins. Daryl headed back out to the living room and groped around under the side table on which rested that stupid Jack-o’-lantern dish. He eventually found what he was looking for – an old mason jar. He dumped the handful of nails it contained into the Jack-o’-lantern, then headed back to Merle’s room. It took him the rest of the cassette tape to count out the pile of coins, but he didn’t care – it was twenty-eight dollars and fifty-nine cents, mostly in quarters and dimes, but there were a couple of silver dollars and even a fifty-cent piece. It was more money than he’d ever held in his own hands before and barely fit within the jar.

After sorting out the last of the junk in the dresser, Daryl moved on to the next pile – the dirty clothes in the broken closet. He didn’t bother sorting anything, just opened the garbage bag over the top of the pile and scooped it all into the plastic. It took two bags in total to reveal the busted laundry basket under it all. He spent a few minutes trying to tug the collapsed side back into place, but eventually admitted defeat. The basket went into the trash. It took another ten or fifteen minutes to transfer the drift of garbage hiding the trash can into one of the black garbage bags.

Yawning, Daryl blearily blinked at what he’d accomplished so far. More than half the room was now relatively clean. The thin carpet along where he’d worked was still grimy and scattered with unidentifiable bits of grit, but unless his dad got the power turned back on to run the vacuum cleaner, that wasn’t something Daryl could do anything about. Deciding to leave the rest until morning, he climbed atop Merle’s unmade bed, pushing the last of his brother’s clean clothes off onto the floor in the process, and was asleep in minutes.


	3. Chapter Two:  Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm heading back to work as of Monday after a much too long absence (personal issues IRL). For those who don't know, I'm a truck driver, and WiFi isn't all that easy to come by on the road (locations a semi truck can access, at any rate). I mention this because there is a chance that - though I will try my best - updates will become somewhat erratic.
> 
> I also apologize for missing my update goal of Saturday. I've been busy packing and trying to find all my gear.
> 
> Anyway, enough with my blathering. Here's the next chapter for y'all. I hope you like it!

_Chapter Two: Thursday_

If he dreamt, he didn’t remember it after waking up. It was his father’s heavy footfalls shaking the trailer a little that woke him. It took a moment for him to realize he had slept in Merle’s room. He spotted the Coleman lantern and winced. It was cold and dark – he’d forgotten to turn it off the night before – and he was pretty sure his dad was gonna be furious when he found that it’d burned clear through the bottle of propane. _Won’t tell ’im,_ Daryl decided as he listened to his dad get ready for work. _Maybe he’ll think he left it on himself if I don’t tell ’im._

Daryl stretched, then silently slipped into his own bedroom. He picked up his jeans and t-shirt from the day before and sniffed them. They stunk like dried pond-water, so he tossed them onto the small pile of dirty clothes in his own laundry basket. As he was pulling on a clean pair of jeans, he heard the distant sound of a shower turning on and let out a sigh of relief. _Guess that means the power’s back on._ The trailer was far enough from town that it had its own well for water, but since the well-pump was electric, it’d been almost a week since they’d had running water.

_Want a bath, but I s’pose I oughta wait ’til after I get done wi’ Merle’s room. Just get all dusty doin’ that anyways._ He finished dressing, then waited until he heard his dad leave before heading to the kitchen. The sound of the refrigerator running was a balm to his ears, even if he didn’t want to open it just yet. A week without power and the inside of it would stink, even though all that had been in it to spoil had been a nearly-empty carton of milk and some leftovers from Katy’s diner. He grabbed a plastic glass – a giveaway from one of the gas stations in town – and filled it with water, then helped himself to a packet of off-brand blueberry toaster pastries. He didn’t bother heating them up, just ate them straight from the package.

Once his breakfast was nothing more than crumbs, he headed back to his room and carried his dirty laundry through the house to the washing machine that stood to one side of the wide hallway that separated the kitchen from his dad’s bedroom. Opening the washer, he reeled back at the stench of mildew. Peering into the machine, he saw it was packed full of wet clothes. Sighing, he dumped in some liquid detergent, then turned the machine on. He’d forgotten he’d started a load the day the power’d gone out.

Before he could head back to Merle’s room, he was interrupted by a knock on the front door. He hadn’t heard a car pull up, but he supposed the sound could have been drowned out by the growling gurgle of water as the washing machine filled. He headed to the door and opened it.

To his surprise, the Rhees – all five of them – were standing on the rickety deck. He smiled brightly. “Hi!”

Miz Rhee returned his smile. “Hi yourself, Daryl. Your dad home, honey?”

Daryl shook his head. “No. He left for work a while ago. You wanna come in?” He stepped aside as they opened the screen door and entered. He saw the twins looking around with grimaces on their faces. Moya just burbled in her mother’s arms. Glenn was smiling, though, and that was really all Daryl cared about.

“Glenn wanted to know if you could come over and play,” Nari said, inwardly wincing at the level of grime coating the inside of the trailer.

“Want to,” Daryl replied. “But I gotta get m’chores done first. Uncle Jess is s’posed ta be here tomorrow, I think, an’ Dad wants me ta get m’brother’s room all cleaned out for ’im.”

“I could help you,” Glenn said, turning hopeful eyes on his mother.

Nari pretended to think it over, but she’d already decided that she was going to stick around. _It’s not right to leave a seven year old home alone like this, even if there weren’t any laws against it._ “Alright,” she said. “Glenn, you can help Daryl if you like.”

“Thanks, Mama!” Glenn exclaimed, then followed Daryl down the hallway. Nari looked to her twin girls. “You two want to help me or keep your sister from eating stuff she shouldn’t?”

Anwyn volunteered to watch the toddler while Enora lent a hand to their mom. The television came on, and Anwyn spent a moment complaining about the discolored blotch, but eventually settled in watching game shows and playing with Moya on the sofa. Enora followed Nari into the kitchen and stood uncertainly by the table while her mom rifled through cabinets and the broom closet. Their first order of business was to tackle the mound of dishes that had spread from the sink onto the counters. About halfway through the pile, the washing machine buzzed and Nari followed the noise to the machine. She transferred the pile of cotton and denim into the dryer, cleaned what looked like a pound of lint off the lint-trap, then spent nearly ten minutes looking for dryer sheets, only to be disappointed. Turning the dryer on, she then separated out the basket of laundry sitting atop the dryer. It was obviously Daryl’s things, and as such only contained a handful of whites – socks – and from the look of them, it was obvious that this house didn’t bother sorting laundry to begin with. Shrugging a little, she dumped the entire pile into the washer, socks and all, and set it running before returning to the kitchen.

While Mama Rhee busied herself on the other end of the house, Daryl and Glenn tackled what remained of the mess in Merle’s room. The first thing Daryl did was find the least-tattered pair of jeans he could, along with a t-shirt and a button-down flannel and put them with the socks and underwear he’d decided to keep just in case Merle needed something to wear when he came home. The rest of the clothes were tossed into one of the big black garbage bags.

Daryl ‘let’ Glenn clean up the drift of used tissues while he crawled under the bed and pushed everything there out. Most of it was shoes and boots – and like with his brother’s clothes, Daryl carefully selected the best pair and kept them while tossing the rest – though there were also a _lot_ of magazines. These ones weren’t anything special to Daryl’s way of thinking. Almost all of the pictures were of naked women, and the few that weren’t were advertisements for either cars, cigarettes, or booze. They all got scooped into a garbage bag.

All the while the boys worked together, they chatted. By the time they were done, they knew each other pretty well. They were just stripping the dirty and dusty sheets and blankets off the bed – their last task, save for the pictures pinned to the walls – when they heard the distinctive roar of a vacuum start up out in the living room. They’d just managed to wrangle the tangle of bedding onto the floor when Nari showed up in the doorway. “You boys doing alright back here?” she asked, noting the flag and photos on the walls. She spared a moment to shudder inwardly at what else the children might have found while working, but pushed the thought away for her own peace of mind.

“Yes, Mama,” Glenn replied, giggling out from under the tangle of bedding.

“Almost done, Miz Rhee,” Daryl replied, standing up straight. “Just need ta get this stuff inta the washin’ machine, then strip down the pictures. Think I’ll pro’ly leave the flag up, though – pretty sure Uncle Jess might like it.”

From what she’d seen of the trailer, Nari was pretty sure that if this ‘Uncle Jess’ was anything like Daryl’s father, he would definitely admire the flag, so she didn’t say anything about it. Instead, she said, “All the pictures?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. Gonna use the stepladder ta reach the ones high up.”

Nari checked her watch. It was closing in on lunchtime. “How about you and Glenn get that bedding into the laundry room, and I’ll take down the pictures. I won’t need the ladder to reach them all, so I can get it done faster.”

“Thanks, Miz Rhee,” Daryl said, then worked with Glenn to get the tangle of bedding bundled up. It took both of them to haul it down the hall. In the living room, Daryl noticed that the bits of trash he’d missed the night before had been picked up, and Enora was running the vacuum. She finished up as they passed through, then headed for the hallway.

In Merle’s room, Nari took a vicious delight in tearing down the nearly naked cutouts from swimsuit rags. They were all stapled to the wall, and she lacked anything to pry out the staples, so she left them in. With the general condition of the trailer as a whole, she doubted anyone would even notice, or care if they did.

She was just tucking the last handful of crumpled scrap into the open trash bag when Daryl returned. “Thanks for puttin’ my clothes in the washer, Miz Rhee,” he said, shyly scuffing a toe of his sneaker through the grime on the floor.

“It wasn’t any bother,” Nari replied as she tied the last of the garbage bags closed. “You all done in here?”

Daryl nodded. He’d run the vacuum over the carpet and knock down the cobwebs later. For now, though, all the major stuff had been accomplished.

“What do we need to do with these bags?”

“Just set ’em on the deck. Dad’ll take ’em ta the dump later,” Daryl replied, then grabbed one of the bags. It was heavier than it looked.

“I’ll get it,” Nari said, closing her hand over the boy’s. “You go tell Glenn to wash up – it’s almost time for lunch. You might want to clean up a little yourself.”

Daryl felt a stab of disappointment, but didn’t let it show on his face. “Okay,” he said, then headed back out to the living room. He had to squeeze past Enora and the vacuum on his way. Out in the living room, he flopped onto the couch next to Glenn. “Your mom says you gotta wash up ’cause lunch is gonna be soon. Just wanna say thanks fer helpin’ me t’day – ya din’t hafta.”

Glenn shrugged. “Wanted to,” he said. “Since you couldn’t come play, this was the next-best thing. Maybe we can play some after lunch.”

The vacuum powered down, and Daryl looked towards the hall as he shrugged. “Maybe,” he agreed, but he doubted it. It wasn’t enough that Miz Rhee had let Glenn help him clean Merle’s room – it hadn’t escaped his attention that the kitchen had also been polished up as best it could. _Ain’t got no way ta pay her back for doin’ that. Woulda taken me all day ta finish up m’chores, but she done did most of ’em wi’out me e’en sayin’ nothin’. Don’t think she’d reward me by lettin’ me play wi’ Glenn after they done most o’my work for me._ Glenn had stood and ducked into the kitchen to wash up while he’d been thinking. Shortly afterwards, Enora appeared with the vacuum, coiling the cord around its pegs as she inched back into the living room.

Anwyn let out a sigh that almost woke Moya, who was sleeping on her lap. “You know your TV is busted?” she said.

Daryl shrugged. “Still works.”

Another moment later, and Nari appeared, one heavy black garbage bag in either hand. She deposited them on the deck, then paused on her way back for the rest. “You not hungry, Daryl?” she asked.

“Why?”

“’Cause you’re still sitting there like a bump on a log. Go get washed up, honey, then we’ll all run into town for some lunch.”

Daryl didn’t need to be told twice. He all but sprinted back to the rear bathroom and scrubbed his hands and face. His clothes were dirty, but they’d been clean that morning, and Glenn’s weren’t any better, so he figured it didn’t matter. He ran a comb through his hair, then hurried back to Mama Rhee.

The entire group walked to the Rhees’ house before piling into Nari’s van. Half an hour later, and she parked at the main play park in town. The kids quickly devoured their Happy Meals, then she let them loose in the park. When her watch told her it was nearing time for Moya’s and Glenn’s afternoon naps, she herded them all back into the van and aimed it for the grocery store. All five of the kids were asleep before she could find a parking place. Using a pad of Post-It notes she kept in the glove box, she wrote a quick message and stuck it to the inside of the sliding side door. It said, _I’m in the store – do not leave the car._

She went up and down the aisles quickly, grabbing milk and butter and bread and peanut butter. Cereal, grape jelly, cheese, and sandwich meat. Toilet paper, paper towels, more trash bags, and a package of bar soaps. Some more laundry detergent and a box of dryer sheets. Ketchup, mustard, mayo, and what seemed like a mountain of canned soups and ravioli and spaghetti. Hotdogs, buns, relish, and a jar of pickle spears. Kool-Aid, a couple of boxes of mac’n’cheese, and a few packets of assorted flavors of noodle- and rice-based microwavable side dishes. A big box of ramen noodles, some general multi-purpose cleaner to replace what she’d used that morning, and another bottle of dish soap. A package of kitchen sponges, a new head for the Dixons’ sponge-mop, and a new broom. In the frozen section, she grabbed pot-pies, TV-dinners, juice concentrate, some frozen entrées and pizzas, and a box of popsicles. Since she didn’t know if Daryl’s dad knew how to cook, she didn’t grab anything that needed more than the battered microwave they owned. On her way to the checkout, she detoured back to the produce section and grabbed a mixed bag of apples and oranges and some bananas. At the checkout, she was grateful that the apartment building up in New Jersey was full – it meant that she was getting roughly three thousand dollars a month from the tenants, after all the maintenance costs were factored out.

The kids were still sleeping as she packed her purchases into the trunk area behind the last seat. It almost didn’t all fit. The kids were still sleeping as she pulled onto the rough dirt track that led to the Dixons’ trailer. On stopping in the wide spot off the deck, Daryl startled her a little by quietly saying, “Thanks, Miz Rhee. Ya din’t hafta drop me off – ain’t that far ta walk.”

She twisted around and smiled at the boy. He’d climbed over Glenn and was crouched beside the middle bench, one hand on the door handle. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind the walk,” she quietly agreed. “But that’s not why I went ahead and came here first. You see, on the way home, I stopped by the store and bought some stuff I thought you might like.” She could see an embarrassed blush creep up the boy’s cheeks as he opened his mouth to argue. She held up a hand to forestall it. “Now, hush a moment. It’s only the second week of June right now, right?”

Daryl thought about it, but couldn’t figure if that was right or not, so he just nodded. “Yeah?”

“Well, I’m gonna make you a deal, alright?” She waited for him to look up at her before she continued. “Since Moya is still so little, I don’t have much time to take care of our yard. The twins _hate_ yard work, though Anwyn likes to help me cook and Enora likes to help with the cleaning. I don’t think Glenn’s _quite_ old enough to be running the lawn mower, but you’re bigger than he is. If you come by to help me with the yard, I’ll pay you with stuff from the grocery store. Sound good?”

Daryl didn’t even have to think about it – he nodded enthusiastically. “You want me ta come over t’day?”

Nari shook her head. “No. Saturday is soon enough. For now, let’s go ahead and get the stuff I bought put away.”

Had Daryl known just how _much_ stuff Miz Rhee had bought, he probably wouldn’t have agreed. A creeping apprehension settled in his stomach as he put cans of food into the cupboards with help of the aforementioned stepladder while directing Miz Rhee on where to put the cleaning stuff she’d bought. As he thought about it, though, some of the apprehension faded. _Their yard is_ really _big. An’ she’ll pro’ly want me ta trim them bushes by the road an’ weed out the flower beds, too._

As the last item was crammed into the now-stuffed freezer, Nari asked, “What time does your dad get home from work?”

“Late, usually. Ten or so,” Daryl replied, gathering up the empty sacks from the grocery store.

“Why so late? It was barely seven when we got here this morning and he was already gone.”

Daryl shrugged. “Works a coupla towns over. Janitor at Rabun County Hospital. Know he starts his shift at eight, an’ he’s done by five or six most days, but he likes ta stop off at the Owltap afore he comes home.”

Nari figured it was something like that, though she had been betting on the Roadhouse rather than the nicer bar downtown. “You want to come over tonight for supper, then? Since your dad won’t be home until late.”

Daryl shook his head. “Thanks, though. He’ll pro’ly be home early t’day, since Uncle Jess’ll be here soon.”

“If you change your mind, feel free to come on over. We’ll probably have dinner about five-thirty or so.”

Daryl wasn’t going to, not since she’d went ahead and bought all those lovely groceries. He absolutely did _not_ want to wear out his welcome. “If I change m’mind,” he said, “I will.”

Nari checked her watch. If they were going to have dinner at the time she’d said, she really needed to get going. _Still don’t feel right about leaving Daryl on his own, though._ She hesitated near the front door. Daryl, not hearing it open and shut, walked over to the archway between the kitchen and the living room. “Ya forget somethin’?”

Nari shook her head. “No. You sure you don’t want to come over for dinner?”

“I’m sure. I still got a coupla chores ta finish. Need ta toss them blankets inta the dryer an’ stuff.” When Miz Rhee still didn’t leave, Daryl mentally rolled his eyes. “I’ll be okay, Miz Rhee. Promise. I finish up the chores an’ I’ll just watch some TV or read or somethin’. I don’t need no babysitter.”

_Well, that’s me told!_ Nari smiled at both the thought and at Daryl. “Alright, sweetie.   You have a good night, okay?”

“You, too,” Daryl replied. “Tell Glenn I said ‘bye’, okay?”

“I will,” Nari promised.

As the Rhees’ van maneuvered around to head to their place, Daryl let out a long sigh. As much fun as he’d had in cleaning up Merle’s room with Glenn’s help and then at the play park, he wasn’t used to being around that many people all at the same time. Leastways, not that many people who weren’t all picking on him. He was pretty sure that’d change once school started. Even though he wouldn’t be in the same grade as Glenn, he was pretty sure that the younger boy would be warned away from him. _Besides,_ Daryl thought, _Glenn’ll want friends from his own class._ He was unaware of the dual nature of his thoughts, but had he known that ‘class’ also meant ‘social strata’, it would have wrung a wry and self-depreciating smirk from him. _Just enjoy it while it lasts, Daryl._

With that, he retrieved the Walkman and changed out the cassette. He put stuff from the washer into the dryer, humming along with CCR, then used the vacuum on the carpet in Merle’s room. The long hose attachment sucked the cobwebs away. Once he was done with that, he put away the clothes that Miz Rhee had not only washed, but folded, too, then stripped down and filled the tub. The new soap Miz Rhee had bought smelled really nice, a little like pine and rain, and didn’t burn when he lathered it across his skinned knees like the soap his dad brought home from the hospital did.

Clean, for the first time in what felt like _weeks_ , Daryl dressed himself in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Though it had been a little chilly that morning, it was now too hot to wear full jeans. He then padded out to the kitchen and nuked himself a bowl of ravioli. While waiting on the ancient microwave, he gnawed his way through an apple and took the time to marvel at how full the fridge and cupboards were. He couldn’t _quite_ remember, but he thought that this was more food than they’d _ever_ had in the house, even back when his mom had still been alive.

He noticed the old take-away boxes from the diner had been tossed out, as had the spoiled milk, and made a mental note to thank Miz Rhee for that when he saw her next. After he was done with his supper, he went ahead and washed off the bowl and fork he’d used, then grabbed the basket of his dad’s clothes and hauled it to the living room.

Daryl turned on the television and fiddled with the tuner for a minute. Sometimes, he could get Fox, but most times the mountains blocked the signal. His luck was with him and he managed to tune the TV to a very fuzzy and static-filled Fox station. While _Thundercats_ played, he folded up his dad’s laundry. He finished as the cartoon ended and switched over to a rerun of an old sitcom. He didn’t much care for the show, so he turned the TV off. _Only other thing on right now’s the news anyway. Wish we could get cable – heard that they got an entire channel of nothin’_ but _cartoons on cable._

He tugged the basket of his dad’s clean laundry into his dad’s bedroom, then ambled back to his own. Looking around, he saw that he needed to clean up his own space, and so set to work again. It didn’t take long. He never saw the point in being messy like Merle – it just made it hard to find what he wanted when he needed it. But he did find homes for the things he’d salvaged from his brother’s room. The cassettes fit into an old shoebox that had contained one of the many pairs of boots in Merle’s room. The batteries, lighters, and other small bits found homes in the drawer of his bedside table. The bag of firecrackers was hidden under his bed, up against the bottom of the table. The outfit of Merle’s he’d kept was bundled into a couple of grocery sacks and shoved onto the shelf in his closet. The toy that had come in his Happy Meal – a weird Muppet-looking critter in a car made from a carrot – sat on his windowsill, next to a feather he’d found from a cardinal, and a piece of raw smoky quartz.

Once he was done straightening everything to his satisfaction, he dug out his book from the night before, and settled in to read.

He fell asleep somewhere in the middle of chapter six.

Excruciating pain woke him as his head landed with a thunk on the floor. Kicking out instinctively earned him a swat on the ass. “Don’t you be fightin’ me, boy!” his dad growled. “You got some ’splainin’ ta be doin’!”

Daryl stilled, knowing that fighting his dad would just make things worse. He wasn’t sure what his dad was talking about, though. _Thought I got all the chores done for a change?_ His dad grabbed his shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Without moving the hand – _and how come it feels like talons?_ – his dad marched him down the dark hallway, through the clean-as-it-was-gonna-get living room, and into the kitchen. Daryl immediately saw what his dad was so angry about. His dad’s hand on his shoulder tightened as his other arm came around to point at the open cupboard doors and the open refrigerator. “You best be explainin’ this shit, boy.”

“Miz Rhee bought it!” Daryl scrambled to explain. “She wants me over ta her place on Saturday an’ do yard work fer it all!”

“Who’s Miz Rhee?” his dad asked, fingers still digging into Daryl’s shoulder.

“She’s the mom o’the family what moved inta Ol’ Lady Joyce’s place a few weeks back,” Daryl replied. “Her man died afore they moved here, so she wants me ta clean up her yard an’ mow an’ stuff.”

Finally – _finally_ – his dad let go of his shoulder. While Will Dixon slammed the cupboard doors shut and retrieved a can of PBR, Daryl surreptitiously rubbed his shoulder. _That’s gonna bruise._ After similarly slamming the fridge shut, Will plopped down at ‘his’ place at the table. “You best not half-ass that work at her place, boy,” he warned, popping the can open. “Gotta be nearly a hunnert bucks worth o’food. Ain’t gonna tolerate no shit bein’ spread that Dixons slack off, ya hear me?”

Daryl nodded. “Yessir,” he said, inwardly wincing at the assessment his dad had made on how much Mama Rhee had spent on them.

“You get the back bedroom cleared out like I tol’ ya to?”

“Yessir,” Daryl repeated. “Ain’t got the sheets an’ blankets put back on the bed yet, though.”

Will leveled a hard stare at his son. “I gotta go back an’ check?”

“No sir,” Daryl said. “E’en got the carpet vacuumed.”

Will let out the closest thing Daryl ever got from him by way of ‘thanks’ or ‘good job’ – an approving grunt. This time, the grunt turned into a belch halfway through. “What kinda name’s ‘Rhee’? Irish?”

Daryl shrugged. “Dunno,” he replied. He wasn’t so much ‘fuzzy’ on world geography as it was that he hadn’t a clue about anything further away than Macon. “Pro’ly,” he said, hoping that agreeing with his dad would keep the man in a better mood.

“Least it ain’t a buncha spics or niggers,” Will rumbled, more to himself than to the boy. He finished off his beer and tossed the can into the trash. “You get them bags offa the deck an’ inta the truck afore ya go back ta bed,” he demanded, then headed for his bedroom.

Daryl let out a relieved sigh as his dad left. _That went well._ He grabbed the bedding out of the dryer and took it back to Merle’s room, knowing that if he didn’t do it then, he’d forget and likely earn himself a cuff to the head when Uncle Jess showed up. Once that part was done, he put his sneakers on and headed outside. A half-moon provided enough light that he didn’t bother with the porch light. Using a couple of two-by-eights as a makeshift bridge, he dragged the bags from the deck and into the bed of his dad’s truck. He then tugged the heavy pieces of wood back into their place, leaning against the trailer.

When he was done, he stopped by ‘his’ bathroom and washed his hands, then thought about going to bed. It had been a long and busy day, and despite his nap that afternoon, he was still tired. _Nah, Daryl. Just gotta make the bed in Merle’s room. That’s all that’s left ta do._ Dragging himself into Merle’s room, he untangled the sheets from the blankets and wrestled the fitted one around the mattress. The rest was relatively easy to spread out. He found that Miz Rhee had even washed Merle’s old pillow. It was almost unrecognizable and had fluffed out in the dryer so that now it looked almost new again. He punched it into the pillowcase and sat it at the head of the bed.

His eyes landed on the bedside table and he sighed. Though the top had been cleared of everything but the lamp – a brass thing with a green glass shade that was cracked in two places – and an old clock-radio, he’d forgotten to clear out the drawer and the shelf underneath. He decided to go ahead and get that done before going back to sleep.

On his way out of the room, he grabbed the Coleman lantern and quietly returned it to the coffee table in the living room, then snagged a couple of shopping bags. Once he got back to Merle’s room, one of the bags was tucked into the little trash can. He then pulled open the nightstand’s drawer and began sorting through it.

It didn’t contain much. An empty box of Puffs and a mostly-empty bottle of lotion were thrown away. He kept the little canvas zippered pouch that contained a pair of nail clippers, toenail clippers, and a teeny pair of scissors. A regular-sized pair of scissors were also kept, along with the Stanley staple-gun and its box of staples, and a small pair of binoculars. The last item in the drawer was a small silvery metal case, etched with flowers. A little confused on why something so girly would be in his brother’s room, Daryl pulled it out and looked it over. It was about three inches on a side, and mostly squarish, though it was slightly taller than it was wide. He spotted the catch and opened it. Inside, there were two photographs. One was black and white, the other was in color. Both were a little discolored. The black and white one he recognized as a copy of his parents’ wedding portrait that had hung in the living room of the old house. The color one was a snapshot of his mom rolling cookies in the old kitchen. _Wonder if Dad knows Merle has this?_ Daryl decided not to mention it and sat the photo-wallet with the other things he was keeping. _Pro’ly best not ta mention it. Dad always gets inta the whiskey when someone mentions Ma._

The shelf under the drawer contained a couple more hunting magazines, positioned so they blocked the view of what else the shelf might contain. Behind them, Daryl found his brother’s stash of books. Though Merle didn’t spend as much time reading as he did, their mom had instilled a love of reading onto both her boys, despite her husband’s hatred of the written word. There were eight books stacked neatly along the most-shadowed area of the shelf. The biggest stood at the left of the row. It was a couple inches taller and wider than a normal pocket-book, though it was only an inch or so thick. Daryl pulled it out and discovered it was a how-to manual on motorcycle maintenance, specifically for Triumph brand bikes. The next book was similarly-sized, but was somewhat thicker, and was bound with a plastic spiral. On further investigation, Daryl found that it was a wilderness-survival guide that had numerous full-color pictures. A line of small text on the cover said that it was printed on waterproof paper. The third book was normal paperback-sized and was an adventure novel about Anne Bonny – the back of the book indicated she was a real-life pirate, but that the story itself was made-up. Book four was a collection of Stephen King short stories. The fifth book was narrower than a paperback, but taller, and was all about native bird species of Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, and the Carolinas. The last three books were more novels, a three-part series of murder mysteries.

With everything now complete, he returned to his own room and put away the items he’d ‘rescued’. A moment of panicked searching revealed that his own book had fallen down between the bed and the nightstand, much to his relief. He paged through it until he found where he’d left off, then marked the place with a scrap of paper and tucked it back under his mattress, alongside his other books and the ones he’d saved from Merle’s room. _Wonder if I wash my pillow iffen it’ll poof up like Merle’s did,_ was the last thing he thought before falling back to sleep.


	4. Chapter Three:  Friday

_Chapter Three: Friday_

Much like the day before, Will Dixon’s heavy footfalls woke Daryl. Again, the boy waited until he heard his dad leave for work before emerging from his room. After stopping by the bathroom, he ducked into Merle’s room and double-checked to make sure he’d cleared everything away. Satisfied, he ambled to the kitchen and made himself a bowl of cereal for breakfast. After rinsing the dishes he’d used and putting them away, he checked the top of the dryer to find a basket of his dad’s clothes. He shoved them into the washer with some soap and started the machine, then carried the basket to his room. He tossed his clothes from the day before into it.

Grabbing the book on wilderness survival, he returned to the living room and flopped onto the couch. He was partway through the first chapter – it was on how to find the compass directions and the best ways to find people when lost, and so far had all been information that Merle had already taught him – when he heard the growl of an unfamiliar engine pull up outside. He knew for a fact it wasn’t his dad. Will Dixon’s old Ford was louder and underscored with a rattling noise that sounded like pebbles in a tin can. He also knew it wasn’t Mama Rhee’s van, since hers made barely any noise at all. Cautiously, he peeked through the window behind the TV and spotted a brand-new red and white Chevy half-ton. The bed was all piled up with boxes and plastic bins and a few pieces of furniture.

A man he didn’t recognize climbed out from the cab and stretched. He was wearing a grey-green t-shirt, jeans, boots, and a ball cap for the Atlanta Braves. “Hey! Anyone home?” he shouted towards the trailer.

Daryl clutched his book tightly to his chest and quietly retreated to his bedroom. He’d just made it when he heard the front door open. “Daryl?” the man called out, sending an irrational bolt of panic through Daryl. “Ya home, boy? It’s Uncle Jess – yer pa shoulda tol’ ya I was comin’.”

Despite wanting to hide, Daryl knew he couldn’t. He quickly hid his book, then squared his shoulders and walked out to the living room. “There ya are, kiddo. Lemme take a look atcha.” Jess was taller than Daryl’s dad, and had more muscles, too. Daryl stood stock-still as his uncle looked him over from head to toe. “Ya look just like Willy, doncha?” Jess marveled. “Cat got yer tongue?” he eventually asked after Daryl’s continued silence.

“No sir,” Daryl immediately replied. Even though Jess didn’t look anything like his dad, they had the same voice. The reply was automatic.

Jess’ face split into a wide grin and he laughed. “Don’t go callin’ me ‘sir’, kiddo – I weren’t no damn REMF. ‘Jess’ is good enough fer me.”

The laughter managed to diffuse a little of the tension in Daryl. “REMF?”

“Rear Echelon Mother Fucker,” Jess explained. “They’re the idiot officers who keep their own asses safe while sendin’ us poor enlisted off ta fight.”

“Yer in the army, too?” Daryl asked, still a little confused about the acronym, but deciding it wasn’t worth it to press for more information just yet.

Jess shook his head. “Fuck no! Navy. Though I’m retired now. Hit my twenty-year mark, finished out that hitch, an’ now I don’t gotta traipse all ’round the globe no more, but they’re still payin’ me. Sure, it’s half what I was makin’ b’fore, but I ain’t gonna let that bother me none.”

“Oh,” Daryl said, not sure what else to say.

After a beat of silence, Jess said, “Well, kiddo – ya wanna help me unload my truck?”

When his dad phrased things that way, it wasn’t a choice, so Daryl was unaware he had the option to say no. He just shrugged. “Sure,” he said.

It took several hours to unload Jess’ stuff from the pickup. Most of the boxes wound up in Merle’s room, but there were some that Jess deposited in the living room, and even a couple that went to the kitchen or the back bathroom. Four of the big pieces of furniture Daryl’d spotted also wound up in the living room, too: A rocker-recliner in brown and green plaid, a heavy wooden console that opened up on top to reveal a record player and radio, a wooden side-table that looked like it had been carved from a whole tree stump, and a tall wooden cabinet with glass doors. The recliner was set at an angle on the opposite end of the couch from Will’s. The console stereo took up most of the space along the wall that separated Daryl’s bedroom from the living room. The tall cabinet fit perfectly between the television and the side-table by the door. And the carved-log end table fit between Jess’ recliner and the couch. The additional furniture made the living room seem cramped and small, but also lived-in in a way that made Daryl almost want to smile.

Two milk-crates full of vinyl records were stacked to make ‘shelves’ next to the record player. Jess thumbed through them, then selected a record and put it on. Daryl didn’t recognize the singer, but he quickly decided he liked the music. It was upbeat and catchy and about as far from Merle’s rock or Dad’s whining cowboys as it was possible to get. Jess cranked the volume, then beckoned for Daryl to follow him back to Merle’s room.

The music, though loud enough to make his ears hurt out in the living room, was just comfortable back in Merle’s room. Jess set Daryl to unpacking his clothes and putting them in the dresser while he sorted through the rest of his things. A thirteen-inch TV was connected to a brand-new VCR and set up atop the dresser. A bookshelf – one of the cheap particleboard ones – was assembled and propped against the wall just inside the broken closet. It was soon filled with cassette tapes containing movies. The videos were mostly westerns, but there were a couple of action movies, too, and even a few science-fiction ones.

Daryl finished emptying a box of jeans and flannel shirts and asked, “Any other clothes?”

Jess shook his head. “Nah. Just some ol’ uniforms, an’ they c’n stay packed away. I’ll get the rest o’this shit taken care of later. How ’bout we find ourselves somethin’ fer lunch?”

Without waiting for a reply, Jess headed towards the kitchen. Daryl, somewhat more at-ease around his uncle now, followed behind. He arrived to find Jess rummaging around in the fridge. “Was kinda hopin’ fer some eggs. Ain’t had fresh ones in a long time. Guess I’ll run ta the store later. Fer now, though…” he trailed off and straightened up, closing the fridge as he did so. “Whacha suggest?” he asked Daryl, opening the freezer. “There’s lasagna an’ enchiladas an’ frozen pizza.”

“Pizza?” Daryl tentatively suggested.

Nodding sharply, Jess pulled out the plastic-wrapped pepperoni. “Pizza it is, then. There’s some juice mix in here, too. OJ sound okay?”

“Sure,” Daryl agreed, even though he’d never heard of anyone having orange juice with pizza before.

Jess stripped the package from their lunch, then turned on the oven and sat the frozen circle of pizza directly on the rack. Then he rummaged through the cabinets again. “Y’all got a pitcher?”

“Dunno,” Daryl replied, sitting at the table. “Might be one under the sink.”

And so there was. A clear plastic pitcher of the sort used at the diner in town to serve iced tea and water. Daryl wondered if Merle had stolen it, then decided it didn’t matter – it was theirs now. Jess mixed up the juice and poured them both a large glass before putting the rest in the fridge. The record that was playing – Jess had informed him that the group was called ‘The Beach Boys’ – ran quiet and Jess ducked into the living room to flip it over. He was about to reset the needle when someone knocked on the front door. Despite only being a couple of steps away, the kid beat him to the door.

A _very_ pretty Asian woman wearing a blue strappy blouse and cutoff shorts with sandals was standing on the other side of the screen. “Miz Rhee!” Daryl greeted her with a bright smile. “Did ya bring Glenn wi’ ya t’day?”

The pretty woman smiled back at the kid, but shook her head. “No, honey. I left him and Moya under the twins’ care for right now. Just wanted to see if you wanted to have lunch with us.”

Daryl’s smile fell a little. “Uncle Jess just put pizza in the oven for us. Maybe tomorrow?”

While Nari nodded, Jess spoke from the shadows within the trailer, “Don’t just stand there, kiddo – invite the lady in!” He liked her faint accent. Unless he was much mistaken, it was primarily Michigan, with a bit of a Seoul undertone.

Daryl opened the screen and motioned for Miz Rhee to enter. She did so, wanting to see ‘Uncle Jess’ for herself. She noticed the man standing next to a new addition to the room – a record player – and saw him hastily remove his ball cap. “Annyeong, sarang hae, ireumeun mueosip nikka?” he said, grinning at her. (Hello, I love you, what’s your name? – from omniglot.com, Korean)

Nari blushed and giggled at Jess. “Nari Rhee,” she replied. “And you don’t look like Jim Morrison. Where did you learn to speak Korean?” Indeed, the man was a full six-three, and solidly-built, but his muscles were mostly flat and wiry, rather than big and bulky. They suited the man, though.

“I’m Jess Collins,” he replied, inwardly cheering that not only had his guess as to the lady’s heritage been accurate, but that she’d taken his greeting as the joke it was. “Was stationed at CFA Chinhae, outside Busan for near on ta six years, but that was a long while ago,” Jess replied, glancing at his wristwatch. He fiddled with the buttons for a bit, then handed his watch to Daryl. “This beeps, turn the oven off, will ya? I’d like a word wi’ Miz Rhee. Okay?”

“Alright,” Daryl replied, taking the expensive-looking Casio and handling it as though the goldtone metal were real gold and not brass.

After the kid disappeared into the kitchen, Jess’ smile morphed into something a bit more serious. “Outside, ma’am,” he said, stepping around the woman and holding the screen open for her.

Concerned, Nari followed him onto the deck. “What’s wrong?”

Jess ran a hand through his service-short light brown hair and frowned. “Look, I’ll level wi’cha – I ain’t much like m’brother. Figure that’s ’cause I’m a Collins, an’ not a Dixon. But I joined the Navy straight outta high school back in the early sixties. As a result, I spent most of ’Nam stationed at Chinhae. M’brother, Will, he weren’t so lucky. Got drafted an’ sent ta the thick of it. Lucky he ever made it home. His time there, it marked ’im. Nowadays, he sees a lovely lady like yerself an’ he’s more like ta run ya off wi’ a shotgun than ask ya iffen yer doin’ anything this Saturday. Won’t matter ta him one li’l bit iffen yer folks is Korean an’ not Vietnamese. So, yer not gonna wanna come ’round ’less his piece o’crap rusty blue Ford ain’t here. Got me?”

“Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Collins,” Nari replied. “It’s good to know, and I’ll keep it in mind. Daryl won’t get into any trouble for playing with my boy, Glenn, now will he?”

Jess grinned, “I figure, since yer here on foot, that y’all live in what used ta be Ol’ Lady Joyce’s place just across the road, right?” He waited for Nari to nod, then said, “Well, I sure won’t be the one ta point out what’s right in front of my baby brother’s face. I’ll have a quiet word wi’ the kid, too, make sure he knows not ta be makin’ no trouble for hisself neither.”

Nari let out a huff that wanted to be laughter, but couldn’t quite make it. “All things equal, I’m somewhat relieved.”

“How’s that?”

“Well… The boys seem to have become fast friends. And I’d rather Daryl come over to our place than for Glenn to come here,” she gestured around at the rusting hulks of junk and dead cars. “I mean no offense, of course, but Glenn’s always been a little _too_ inquisitive.”

“No offense taken,” Jess replied, casting a long look around the junkyard mess surrounding the trailer. “Been this way since me an’ Willy were kids, though back then there was an ol’ house sittin’ out here an’ not this ratty trailer. You ain’t answered, though.”

“Answered what?” Nari replied, curiously. She liked this man’s sense of humor and forthrightness.

“Whether or not ya got any plans fer Saturday night.”

“I’ve got kids. Four of them. I doubt I can leave them alone for more than a half an hour, else I might not have a house to come back to.”

Jess chuckled. “Ain’t gonna scare me off that easy,” he teased. “Figured that when ya was talkin’ wi’ Daryl. An’ ’s why I asked ’bout Saturday. Baptist church in town does a shindig ev’ry second an’ fourth weekend o’the month. Dance for the older kids an’ adults, wi’ games an’ such for the young’uns. Likewise know that’s the night Willy runs off ta the VFW next town over an’ shoots pool ’til midnight or later.”

Nari bit her lower lip. She _wanted_ to say ‘okay’, but something was holding her back. “Daryl said he’d come by on Saturday and mow my yard for me.”

“Thought there was more food in the house than Willy tends ta buy,” Jess muttered, looking down at the decking beneath his boots. Looking back into Nari’s pretty brown eyes, he just shrugged. “Can’t take all _that_ long ta hack them weeds back a bit. I c’n come over, too. See iffen there ain’t anythin’ ya need a long reach ta help wi’. Any burnt-out ceilin’ lights? Or I’m a fair hand wi’ a wrench. Any leaky pipes?”

“You’re persistent.”

Jess’ grin morphed into a broad smile. “Ain’t given me a reason not ta be. You ain’t interested, all ya gotta do is say so. Still need a hand wi’ some repairs, but don’t wanna go to the dance? ’S fine by me, but ya gotta say so.”

Nari opened her mouth to refuse, thinking it was still too soon after her husband’s death – _and how would I ever explain it to the kids?_ – but Daryl’s impatient shout from inside interrupted her before she could say anything. “Uncle Jess! Pizza’s ready!”

“Be right there, kiddo!” Jess hollered back, his eyes never leaving Nari’s. “Well, Miz Rhee?”

“I…” she glanced at her watch and winced. She’d already been gone longer than expected. “I’ve got to get home.” She turned and fled down the stairs. “It was nice meeting you!” she shouted over her shoulder.

Chuckling to himself, Jess returned to the kitchen. He used a knife to slide the pizza off the rack and back onto the circle of cardboard it came with, then sliced it into eight pieces and sat the cardboard circle on the table. He’d been chatting long enough that the pizza was still warm, but not too hot to handle. They each grabbed a slice. “So… What c’n ya tell me ’bout Miz Rhee, Daryl?” Jess asked around a mouthful of surprisingly good pizza.

Daryl shrugged and took a drink of his juice. “They moved inta Ol’ Lady Joyce’s place a few weeks ago. Miz Rhee’s real nice. I din’t meet none o’them ’til just day b’fore yesterday, though. Was out playin’ in the creek when Glenn showed up. Showed him the beaver pond an’ when we was done, he brought me back ta the house. Miz Rhee lemme stay fer supper. Had hotdogs an’ mac’n’cheese. Pro’ly the best I e’er had.”

“She tol’ me ya said you’d mow her yard?”

Daryl nodded and took a quick bite of his pizza. “Yeah. She got us some groceries an’ made a deal wi’ me ta do the yard work she ain’t got time fer. She don’t want Glenn runnin’ the mower ’cause he’s only five.”

Jess doubted that was the reason Nari had made this ‘deal’ with Daryl, but he wasn’t about to say as much to his nephew. He could still remember how proud he’d been when he’d worked out a deal with the man who ran the hardware store back when he’d been thirteen – he worked every day after school for two hours, and by the time Christmas had rolled around, the little .22 rifle he’d wanted was his. _Thinkin’ on guns, I gotta make sure the kid knows mine ain’t toys. Wonder if he’d wanna learn ta hunt? Lord knows, Will can’t hit the broad side of a barn at ten paces, an’ wouldn’t know a deer print from a hole in his head._ “She buy our lunch?” Jess asked instead.

Daryl nodded, his mouth too full to reply without spraying cheese and pepperoni over the table.

Jess echoed the nod. “Then it’s only fair I come wi’ ya tomorrow. Lend a hand, since I’m gonna be eatin’ what she bought, too.”

Daryl swallowed and said, “Guess that’s fair.”

“Damn straight it is,” Jess agreed with another nod. “Anyway, Miz Rhee’s got kids?”

“Yeah. Glenn’s five. He got three sisters. The baby’s Moya, an’ I think he said she was gonna be three in a coupla days,” Daryl said, grabbing another slice of pizza. “The older girls is twins an’ if it weren’t ’at they wear dif’rent clothes, I wouldn’t tell ’em apart. They’s Anwyn an’ Enora an’ I think they’re eight or nine years old.”

Jess nodded again, though Daryl could tell it was more to himself than for any other reason. “There a Mr. Rhee?” he asked. He didn’t think so since he hadn’t seen a ring on Nari’s hand.

Daryl shook his head and washed down his bite of pizza with some juice. “Glenn said he died last year. Dunno how, though.”

They ate in silence for several minutes. Eventually, Jess casually said, “Ya know, I’m grateful for the space in that room back there, but I thought it was yer brother’s room…?”

“Was,” Daryl agreed. “He went of ta join the army, though, an’ Dad said that he’s a grown-up now and’s gotta… gotta…” he closed his eyes to remember exactly how his dad had phrased it. “‘Gotta larn ’bout the consequences o’bein’ a no-good doper hisownself’.” He opened his eyes and looked at his uncle. “Does ‘doper’ mean ‘stupid’? ’Cause I know Merle din’t much like school, but he always passed his classes.”

“No,” Jess said. “A doper’s someone who’s usin’ illegal drugs, an’ yer pa’s the dumbass. Lemme guess, he bagged all yer brother’s shit an’ hauled it off ta the dump, yeah?”

“Had me bag it up,” Daryl corrected, finishing off his slice of pizza, “but yeah.” He sorta wanted another, even though he was full. _Do that, though, an’ yer just gonna wind up sick._ He picked up his glass of juice and drained it instead. “Pro’ly dumped it all this mornin’ on his way ta work.”

Jess let out a long sigh. “I repeat, kiddo – yer pa’s a dumbass.” He polished off the slice of pizza in his hands, then drained his juice. “Ya done eatin’?”

“Yeah,” Daryl agreed.

Jess stood and grabbed a plate from the cupboards. He transferred the remaining three slices of pizza onto it, then hunted around in the drawers and cabinets for a moment. “Don’t y’all got any plastic wrap?”

“Don’t think so,” Daryl replied, tossing the cardboard circle into the trash and putting their glasses in the sink. “If we did, it’d be wi’ the tin foil in the third drawer down,” he pointed to the stack of four drawers next to the stove.

“Then ya don’t got none,” Jess said. He retrieved a tiny little notebook from his hip pocket and unclipped a pen from the inside of his t-shirt collar. “Anythin’ else y’all’re out of?”

Daryl shrugged. “Know Mama Rhee,” he said it without realizing, “bought some stuff ’sides food yesterday. Laundry soap, dish soap, regular soap. Some sponges an’ a broom. Dunno what-all else, though.”

“Well, kiddo, let’s take a gander an’ see what we see, eh?” Jess began to methodically go through each cupboard, periodically jotting down items he wanted to have on hand. Finishing up in the kitchen, he moved on to the back bathroom, with Daryl trailing along in his wake.

“Whacha doin’?” Daryl eventually asked, as Jess finished poking through the boxes he’d sat on the bathroom counter.

“Makin’ a shoppin’ list. I ain’t never been that great at ’memberin’ what shit I gotta buy when I’m at the store, so I always write it down afore leavin’. You still got m’watch?”

Daryl nodded and pulled it from his pocket. After handing it over, Jess returned it to his wrist. “’S almost two o’clock. Should be plenty o’time ta pick this stuff up an’ stop by the phone company afore they close. Also need ta stop by the bank, too. Set up an account for m’self.” He tucked the little notebook back into his hip pocket and re-clipped the pen to the inside of his collar. “There anythin’ ya need yerownself?”

Had Jess phrased it to ‘want’ instead of ‘need’, Daryl could have listed a dozen things without even having to think it over. However, Jess had used the same turn-of-phrase his dad used, and when Will Dixon said ‘need’, that was precisely what he meant. As such, the only thing Daryl could think of was new shoes. “Just a pair o’shoes,” he pointed to the battered sneakers he was wearing. “These ones’re wearin’ out. Got a hole in the bottom o’the left one. If there’s time, we c’n stop by Second Chances an’ get me some ones what ain’t so wore out.”

Jess frowned inwardly. Second Chances was the charity-supplied secondhand shop run by the First Methodist church. _Don’t Willy bother gettin’ the kids nothin’ new? Damn it, Jesse Ray Collins – you know that fuckin’ cheapskate wouldn’t bother wi’ that. C’n hear him now. “Why spend m’hard-earnt cash on somethin’ what’ll only last a week ’fore it’s all wore out or outgrown?”_ Sometimes, Jess wished that Will had been his full brother and had known Ernie Collins. Sure, his pa’d had one _hell_ of a temper, but it was always just shouting. He’d never once laid a hand on him or his momma, not like Henry Dixon did after he moved in a couple of years after Ernie Collins had been killed in a logging accident. All this flashed through his head in a heartbeat. Instead of voicing any of it, he just shrugged and said, “Sure thing, kiddo. If you got any pocket-money, go ahead an’ bring it wi’ ya. Might stop by the general store, too, an’ I’m pretty sure they still got that bin o’ penny candy.”

Daryl ducked into his bedroom and grabbed the jar of change he’d salvaged from Merle’s room on their way out to the living room. Jess had just resettled his ball cap on his head when the kid appeared, toting an almost-overflowing jar of coins. Jess let out a low whistle. “Damn, Daryl! That’s impressive. Gonna keep ya in Tootsie Rolls fer the rest o’ yer life!”

It startled a laugh out of Daryl. “Maybe,” he said, then chewed on the inside of his lips for a long minute. Jess was just about to ask what the matter was when Daryl finally spoke, “How much d’ya gotta have ta open a bank account?” He didn’t want his treasure found by his father. He was certain it would wind up going towards whiskey or beer.

“If I recall rightly,” Jess replied, “it’s twenty dollars. How come? Ya lookin’ ta save all that fer a new bike or somethin’?”

Daryl shrugged. “Dunno,” he said. “But it’s a’most thirty bucks an’ I don’t want Dad findin’ it. He’d just take it fer hisownself.”

“Reckon ya ain’t wrong there, kiddo,” Jess said, ambling to the door and holding it open for his nephew. “Tell ya what – we’ll stop by the bank first. Since ya dunno what ya wanna buy wi’ that treasure o’ yers, we’ll open a savin’s account fer ya. Now, this ain’t gonna sound fair, but it’s the way it is an’ we can’t change it none: In this country, a parent can claim any cash their kids make as their own, leastways until the kid’s eighteen an’ considered a grown-up by the law. Don’t matter none iffen it’s in yer pocket or in an account in a bank, yer pa could still take it if he feels like it.”

Daryl slumped some as he followed Jess to the cab of the new Chevy pickup. “Then how come we’re still gonna stop by the bank? I mean fer me – I know ya said ya gotta get yer own account.”

“I know us a way ta keep that cash o’ yers from my dumbass baby brother, kiddo.”

Daryl waited as Jess climbed into the truck and leaned over to open the door for him before asking, “How?”

“Buckle yer seatbelt,” Jess demanded while doing up his own. He started the truck, then maneuvered it around and began navigating the way down the rutted track to the paved county road. “What we’ll do is put the account in _my_ name, wi’ you added on as someone who c’n put money in or take it out. Since I’m gettin’ m’own money, I ain’t gonna need none o’ yers, so ya know it’s gonna still be there once ya figure out whacha wanna buy wi’ it. An’ I’ll even do Willy one better an’ match ya what ya put in, so long as ya gimme a hand wi’ things from time ta time.”

Daryl watched out the window as the forested countryside rolled by. “What’s ’at mean – matchin’ what I put in?”

“Well, how much d’ya got in that there jar, kiddo? D’ya know ’xactly?”

“Twenty-eight dollars an’ fifty-nine cents,” he promptly replied.

“Well, then, when I said I’d match what ya put in, it means that t’day, I’ll be puttin’ twenty-eight fifty-nine inta the account, too. Would mean you’d wind up wi’ somethin’ like fifty-seven dollars total.”

Daryl couldn’t believe that. It was more money than he’d heard his dad grumbling that the power company needed to turn their electricity back on. “Why?” he asked.

“Why ‘why’?”

“Why’d ya match the money?”

Jess shrugged. He wasn’t about to try and explain how he wanted to make up for Will’s stupidity and restore a bit of the family pride, but he knew the kid wanted _some_ sort of answer. He quickly cobbled together something he figured the kid wouldn’t question. “Well, kiddo, it’s like this: I ain’t never much cared fer doin’ shit all by my lonesome. An’ I ain’t plannin’ on findin’ me a regular job for a few weeks yet – my pension from the navy’s more ’an enough ta get by fer now. So, what I was thinkin’ was I’d hire ya. See, the gov’ment’s got this thing called minimum wage. It’s the lowest amount a worker c’n be legally paid, an’ right now it’s three bucks an’ thirty-five cents an hour. So that twenty-eight I’d be puttin’ in would figure out ta about eight hours. Ya helped me unpack this mornin’ fer about four hours, so ya already earned half what I’d be puttin’ in. The rest of it’ll be earned by the time we get back home.”

“But I ain’t doin’ nothin’ right now.”

“Nope,” Jess agreed. “But yer gonna help me find all the crap I got on that list, yeah? An’ yer gonna help me schlep it all in the house when we get back? An’ help wi’ puttin’ it away, right?” Daryl started nodding with the ‘yeah’ and kept on nodding all through Jess’ questions. “Well, then,” Jess said, making a right turn to take them into town. “There ya go – yer gonna wind up earnin’ all that cash by the time we get on home. Now, t’morrow, we’re gonna be workin’ over at Miz Rhee’s, an’ she’s a’ready paid us, so I won’t be payin’ ya. But goin’ forwards, if ya wanna help me – an’ if ya got other things ya need or wanna be doin’ instead, that’s fine, ya c’n always tell me no – I’ll pay ya the three thirty-five an hour fer yer help.”

From the corner of his eye, Jess could see Daryl’s forehead scrunch up in thought. It made him look even more like a miniature version of Willy. Jess held his tongue, though. As he pulled the truck up outside the local bank, Daryl finally spoke again. “Iffen yer gonna be payin’ me fer m’help, ya ain’t gonna be matchin’ what ya put in… Or didja just mean this first time?”

Though that small loophole had escaped his attention when he’d come up with the idea, Jess didn’t let it show on his face. He seized hold of the explanation Daryl had oh-so-helpfully provided. “’S what I meant, kiddo. I’ll match what ya put in t’day, an’ goin’ forwards, it’ll be what ya earn. Alright?”

“Alright,” Daryl agreed, a serious expression on his face.

They climbed out of Jess’ new pickup and went into the bank. An older lady that reminded Daryl of his kindergarten teacher helped them set up Uncle Jess’ accounts – a savings and a checking – and the account he would be sharing with Daryl. The lady spoke to him in the exact same way she spoke to Jess and it made him feel very grown-up. She even explained about signature cards and deposit slips and the balance-book without making him feel like an idiot for having to ask. The only thing that might have made him feel kidish was when they were done and she offered a cut-glass bowl full of suckers, but Jess had grabbed two for himself, so Daryl grabbed one, too.

From the bank, Jess drove them over to the hardware store where they wound up with a mess of tools and some leather work-gloves. After the hardware store, they walked across the street and Daryl was quickly bored while Jess negotiated with one of the office people on getting a telephone connected out at the trailer. Once an appointment was set up for Monday afternoon, they went to the general store. By the time they were done there, it was starting to get late. Jess glanced at his watch. “It’s comin’ up on five-thirty a’ready. That store ya wanted ta go to, it still open?”

Daryl shook his head. “No – closed at four.”

“Guess that’s my fault,” Jess admitted, though inwardly he congratulated himself on orchestrating the afternoon to miss the damn secondhand shop’s hours of operation. “Was still dickin’ around at the phone company when they closed. So, since it’s my fault, I’ll make it up ta ya.” He aimed the truck for the west side of town and soon they pulled into the parking lot of K-Mart.

Daryl followed his uncle into the store. He’d only been inside once before, back before the old house had burned down, when his mom had needed some new needles for her sewing machine. It hadn’t changed much in the time since. He followed Jess through the aisles and back to the shoe section. “Take off yer shoes, kiddo, an’ we’ll find ya some new ones.”

“Don’t gotta be _new_ ,” Daryl insisted.

Jess shrugged, “Sure they do. ’S m’own damn fault fer missin’ the hours Second Chances was open, so shellin’ out a li’l more cash on a new pair’ll remind me not ta miss their hours in the future.” _Like I’m ever gonna waste m’money at that shithole. I’ll willin’ly pay out extra fer new shit what’ll actually_ last _._

Seeing that there wasn’t much he could do to change his uncle’s mind, Daryl sat on a little bench and toed his old sneakers off. Ten minutes later, and he had a box containing a brand-new pair of sneakers tucked under his arm. On their way up to the registers, Jess detoured into the sporting goods section. He picked out a few boxes of various bullets and shotgun shells for the guns he owned, then browsed through the rest of the hunting/fishing/camping section. Daryl kept within eyesight the whole time, but Jess noticed where his nephew’s attention lingered. “You know how ta hunt yet?” Jess asked as Daryl stared through the glass case full of shotguns and rifles.

The boy shook his head. “No,” he said. “Merle kept sayin’ he was gonna teach me, but we ain’t never got around ta it. Been campin’ an’ fishin’ wi’ him a coupla times, though.”

“Two o’ m’own other favorite pastimes,” Jess cheerfully admitted. “We’ll hafta go ourselves sometime.”

They went back to browsing… Well, Daryl browsed and Jess pretended to while watching his nephew from the corner of his eye. The kid spent a full half-hour in the small section where a limited supply of bows and arrows and their various parts were kept. He smiled to himself when he saw Daryl carefully trace the photo of a compound bow on the side of its box. _It’s as good a place ta start as wi’ a .22._ He looked over what the store had on offer and picked a spool of bowstring, a tin of wax, and a couple of packages of target heads for arrows. He’d show the kid how to make the rest of what he’d need.

When Daryl finally looked away from the archery section, Jess said, “C’m on. It’s almost seven now, an’ I dunno ’bout you, but my stomach’s startin’ ta think my throat’s been cut. Let’s head over ta the grocery store, then on home.”

Daryl followed Jess to the registers, not realizing until they got there that his uncle had grabbed more than just ammunition from the sporting goods department. He idly wondered if Jess would show him how to use a bow if he asked, then mentally rolled his eyes at the thought. _Yeah, right, Daryl. He’s a’ready gonna be havin’ ya do chores for ’im, e’en iffen he’s gonna be payin’ fer it. Just makes it less likely he’ll wanna spend any extra time wi’ ya. Maybe that survival book of Merle’s has somethin’ in it about bows an’ arrows._

Once back out in the pickup, instead of heading straight to the grocery store, Jess pulled into the A&W. “Here’s a bit of advice yer gonna wanna remember, Daryl,” Jess said as he turned off the engine. “Never but _never_ go inta a grocery store hungry. If ya do, all yer gonna wind up wi’ is a buncha junk food like chips an’ cookies an’ soda. Maybe you’ll have enough money ta get what’s on yer list, too, but been my experience that ya won’t. So, we’ll have us some burgers an’ fries an’ a root beer float, then we’ll head on over to the grocer.”

It sounded good to Daryl. He wasn’t about to turn down hamburgers two days in a row. And he’d not had a root beer float since his fifth birthday.

It tasted really, really, _really_ good.

Their stop at the grocery store didn’t take very long. Jess grabbed eggs first thing, three dozen of the things, and then added bacon and ham and sausage and pancake mix and syrup to the cart. Daryl wasn’t hungry in the slightest, but the thought of having bacon and pancakes for breakfast still made his mouth water. His uncle also grabbed some sugar and flour and other stuff from the baking aisle, then swung back around to the meat section for hamburger, steak, pork chops, a whole chicken, and some bratwurst. Coffee, creamer powder, and an enormous box of sun tea bags were next to go in the cart, along with three different types of salad dressing. In the produce section, Daryl finally spoke up. “Uncle Jess?”

Jess looked down from his perusal of the tomatoes on offer. “Yeah?”

“We got lotsa food at the house. Ya don’t really need ta buy all this.”

Jess chuckled. “Know that, kiddo, but I like me some _real_ food. I ain’t a bad cook, neither, an’ since I’ll have time ta cook, I may as well do it. The frozen and canned stuff is alright if yer feelin’ lazy or sick or somethin’, sure, but I’d rather have real food when I can.”

“Oh,” Daryl replied, feeling only a little silly for having asked.

Jess returned his attention to the tomatoes. “How ’bout ya run an’ grab another loaf of bread. Make sure it’s wheat bread – I don’t like plain white.”

Daryl scurried off to do so. By the time he returned, a bag of the store-brand wheat bread in hand, Jess had selected his tomatoes. He’d also grabbed a five-pound bag of yellow onions, a ten-pound bag of potatoes, a couple heads of lettuce, a few bulbs of garlic, and a bundle of celery. “Go ahead an’ put it in the cart,” he said, checking the sweet corn the store had on offer. “Also want a box of mushrooms, an’ grab one o’ them two-pound bags o’ carrots, too, please.”

A few bell peppers, cucumbers, some summer squash, and zucchini were added to the cart. More bananas, some peaches, apricots, strawberries, and a large watermelon followed. One last swing past the dairy area scored them a big brick of cheddar and a slightly smaller one of Swiss, along with a package of singles. They actually wound up waiting in line at the checkout for longer than they’d roamed the store to begin with.

On unloading the cart into the bed of the truck, Daryl was amazed at the sheer amount of _stuff_ Jess had purchased that day. The paper sacks and boxes from the hardware store were up behind the cab, followed by a single row of the white plastic bags they used at the general store. The bags from K-Mart were just behind them, and now the greyish blue sacks from the grocery store filled up the rest of the bed. _I wonder iffen all them veggies an’ such’ll e’en fit in the fridge!_

“Ya gonna ride in the back?” Jess asked after returning the cart to the store.

“Can I?” Daryl asked, his voice hopeful. _Dad never lets me ride in back!_

“No skin off my nose,” Jess said. “Just stay sittin’. Don’t wanna be fallin’ out.” He walked over and shut the tailgate. “Actually,” he said while rearranging a couple of the sacks. “If ya sit right here, ya can make sure the melon ain’t gonna roll around an’ wind up crushin’ my eggs, tamaters, or the bread.”

The sun was just starting to sink below the horizon when they returned to the shabby little trailer house. Daryl immediately set about grabbing as many bags as he could carry to take them inside. Jess grabbed the melon for his first trip. Once everything had been brought inside, they got everything put away. All the items Daryl’d been wondering about did, indeed, fit within the fridge, though some of the meats were tucked into the freezer for later. Daryl imagined he could hear the fridge groaning a little with how full it was – the same sort of noise that Merle had made that time last summer when he’d wolfed down a large pizza from Pizza Hut all by himself.

Jess carried most of the stuff he’d bought from the other stores back to his room, then returned with a couple of oddly-shaped heavy plastic cases. Daryl had seen them propped up in the corner the bed made with the nightstand and had been wondering what could possibly be inside. _Looks like I’m gonna find out._ Jess sat one down on the floor, then put the other on the beat up coffee table. He undid the latches, then leveled a stern look at Daryl. “These ain’t toys, Daryl,” he said. “You understand me? I don’t ever want to see you touching them without my permission. Got it?”

Daryl sidestepped around to peer into the case. “I unnerstand,” he said. The case contained four long guns, laid next to each other, but end-to-end so that the barrel of one rested next to the butt of the one beside it. They were all snugged in this weird black foamy stuff that glittered a little from the dim light of the lamp in the corner behind his dad’s recliner.

Jess lifted one out of the foam within the crate. It was long and heavy-looking, with a double barrel that was stacked atop one another, rather than side-by-side. “This is my Browning Citori. It’s a break-action,” he explained, then showed Daryl how the gun came ‘apart’ to reveal where the shells were loaded. “It’s a twelve-gauge. Use it mostly for huntin’ turkey an’ pheasants, though it’s alright for the odd possum, too.”

Daryl wrinkled his nose. “Don’t like possum. It’s too greasy.”

Jess clicked the Browning back to its normal configuration and opened the door to his gun cabinet. “Thought you ain’t been huntin’?”

“Merle an’ me caught a possum the day we moved in here. It was under the kitchen sink. Merle just shouted at it an’ it fell over – I thought he scared it ta death. Merle tol’ me they just play dead when scared. Din’t keep him from stabbin’ it through the head wi’ his pocket knife, though.” Daryl had been simultaneously fascinated and repulsed by what his brother had done. “He roasted it over a campfire out in the yard.”

Jess set the Browning in its place within the cabinet, then picked up the next gun. “Good fer Merle. An’ I agree wi’cha – possum’s too greasy for the most part, but it ain’t half bad if ya stew it wi’ some taters an’ carrots.” He grinned at his nephew’s disgusted expression. “Mayhaps I’ll hafta make some an’ ya can try it that way.”

Daryl shrugged. “I’ll try it, but I ain’t gonna say I’ll like it.”

“Hell, kiddo – no one knows whether they’re gonna like somethin’ ’less they try it first. Anyway, this one’s also a shotgun.” Daryl saw that it was a fraction shorter than the Browning. It was also completely black, where the other shotgun had wood worked into parts of it. “It’s a Remington Model 870, twenty-gauge, an’ I only really use it iffen I’m huntin’ doves or shootin’ in a competition. This one’s a pump-action. See, a break-action only holds two shotgun shells at a time. A pump like this one can hold more. This one in particular holds four in the magazine,” he tapped what looked like a shorter second barrel under the actual barrel of the gun. “And it’ll hold a fifth shell in the chamber, ready ta fire. Wi’ the break-action, after ya fire both barrels, ya gotta break it and take out the spent shells, then put new ones in. Wi’ this one, ya can fire five times afore ya gotta reload.”

“How come anyone’d use the break kind, then?” Daryl asked.

“Well, kiddo, it forces ya ta be sure of what yer shootin’ at afore ya pull the trigger,” Jess explained. “Makes ya a better shot.” He placed the Remington in the cabinet next to the Browning.

“What’s the dif’rence b’tween twelve an’ twenty gauge?”

“Ta answer that, I need ta know if ya know the difference b’tween a shotgun an’ a rifle,” Jess replied, kneeling next to the coffee table.

“A shotgun shoots a buncha li’l pellets all at once, but a rifle shoots a single bullet,” Daryl dutifully explained. He might not have seen many guns in real life, but he’d read too many stories about hunting and police adventures _not_ to know the basics.

Jess nodded. “Okay – so all them li’l pellets? That’s what the gauge is referrin’ ta. The number is how many pellets it takes ta make a pound. So a twelve-gauge has twelve pellets to the pound, while a twenty has twenty pellets to the pound. ’S why ya use a larger-numbered gauge on smaller game. The pellets are smaller.”

“Got it,” Daryl said.

Jess returned to the case and lifted out the next gun. A slight reflexive smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “This is my Marlin Model 39,” he said, lovingly stroking the stock. “She’s a lever-action .22 rimfire – good fer huntin’ small game like squirrel an’ ’coon an’ rabbit. C’n even take ’er turkey-huntin’. Bought ’er when I was thirteen. B’fore that, I’d been usin’ m’ grandpappy’s ol’ gun. Damn thing always pulled ta the left. But I worked m’ ass off from mid-August through December an’ managed to buy m’ first gun.”

“She’s pretty,” Daryl said, meaning it. He liked how the wooden parts seemed to glow from within and how the metal, dark though it was, shined in the low light available.

Jess’ smile broadened into a bright grin. “I think so, too,” he admitted, then put her in the cabinet with the shotguns. “This last one’s another Remington, but it’s a bolt-action thirty-aught-six rifle. This one’s what I take when I go deer huntin’.”

Once he sat the .30-06 in the cabinet, he closed the plastic case and exchanged it for the second one he’d brought out. Daryl saw that this case was a slightly different shape. It was about a foot longer than the other, was several inches wider, and it was curved a bit along the side with the carry-handle.

Jess opened it and heard his nephew’s breath catch. He chuckled. “Yeah – I thought ya might like this.” Inside the case were two small boxes that completely escaped Daryl’s attention, fixed as it was on the ‘star attraction’. It was a hand-carved bow. Jess carefully extracted it from the foam padding and Daryl automatically reached out to touch it, only to jerk his hand back as his remembered promise to keep his hands to himself flashed through his brain. Jess held it out to Daryl. “It’s alright, ya can touch it if ya like. Ain’t gonna hurt it none.”

Daryl ran careful fingers over the dark, shining wood, tracing the leafy pattern carved into its surface. The wood itself was stripes of dark brown and black, lending a strange and almost hypnotic effect to the carved leaves that covered every bit of the bow’s surface save the hand-grip. “I think I was wrong,” Daryl whispered. “This is _way_ prettier than the gun.”

Jess huffed out a laugh. “Glad you think so. Found the wood at a shop in Tokyo, then spent the best part o’ the followin’ six months carvin’ it.”

Daryl nearly dropped the bow. “ _You_ made it?”

Jess nodded. “Yep. Just a hobby, but e’en I gotta admit, this one turned out better ’an I thought it was gonna. It’s made outta Makassar ebony – a type o’ wood what’s rapidly becomin’ hard ta come by, ’cause it’s been over-harvested fer forever. ’Bout shit m’self when I found as big a piece I did, an’ for next ta nothin’ price-wise.”

Daryl, scared he might accidentally mar or otherwise damage the bow, gently handed it back to Jess. “How come it don’t got a string?”

“Only a dumbass stores a strung bow,” Jess replied. “All the power in a bow comes from the wood bein’ able ta spring back an’ forth. Keep a bow strung all the time, an’ the wood starts to make that bow-shape it’s natural form, an’ it won’t spring like it’s s’posed ta. Now, this ain’t so for compound bows, ’cause they’re mostly made from synthetics like fiberglass an’ plastic, but a wooden bow? Ne’er keep it strung ’less ya mean ta be usin’ it.” Jess finished his little lecture and put the bow in the gun cabinet with the shotguns and rifles.

He turned around in time to catch his nephew yawning. “Why doncha head on ta bed, kiddo – it was a long-ass day, an’ we got Miz Rhee’s yard ta do t’morrow.”

Daryl could see the sense in Jess’ suggestion. “Alright,” he said. “Good night, Uncle Jess.”

“G’night yerself, kiddo. Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

Daryl quickly changed into his nightshirt on reaching his room. The fact that Jess had made that beautiful bow himself told Daryl that it was possible. _Gonna try it,_ he thought, climbing into bed. _Don’t care how many tries it takes, neither. I’m gonna try ta make m’own bow, too._ It was the last coherent thought he had that night, though visions of the bow followed him through his dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Kindly lemme know what y'all think. Thanks in advance.


End file.
